White Rabbit
by immortalpen
Summary: What happens when you go to sleep one night, and the world is forever changed, when you wake. Everything you thought you knew... everyone you thought you knew... gone. Set between New Vegas and Dreamcatcher, a glimpse into the world without the blackout, a glimpse not easily forgotten... Multi-chap fic. Charloe.
1. Prologue

As promised (on Tumblr) anew, multi- chap Charloe story. Now, it is new, and a little recycled, as I am taking some scenes from some one-shots I wrote that inspired a longer work.

This takes place after New Vegas, and Charlie saving the Monroes, and just before Dreamcatcher AU epi. This will be follow canon loosely, before a swift departure. In this Dreamcatcher, Aaron is not the only one who experiences the dream, and it is not only one day, but an AU world - if the blackout had never happened.

Please review and let me know what you think!

Prologue

_I am writing this to have some kind of record of exactly how and why my life changed, and to have a way to understand everything that comes next._

_A Rosetta stone, that will translate every tear, every cry and every lash to the heart, through which lens, the world, and everything in it, can finally be understood._

_This is not a story about love, or redemption, it has no such neat meaning as that. Redemption and love are not difficult to understand, they are stripes of yellow against a blue sky of crayon._

_No, this is not such a story. This is a story hidden in a forgotten book, languishing in a locked library, in a ghost town, with illegible script and missing pages._

_It is a story of obsession and vengeance. A story of things lost, perhaps never to be found._

_It is the story of my life, as I now remember it, as unreliable as that testimony may be, it is the best I can do, and it is all I have left._

_I don't know how it came to this, how I ended up being the final stroke to a life's masterpiece of loss and violence, vengeance and regret. But I did._

_Me._

_Charlie Matheson to everyone, and Charlotte to one._


	2. Out of the frying pan

They ditched the wagon almost immediately, no point in making it easy for Gould's men to follow them, but it did mean they hardly made a small, or quiet party travelling toward the rendezvous point.

Charlie's mercenaries, a terse and sullen bunch, ambled along behind them, and Charlie walked side by side with Connor, mostly in silence. Monroe was upfront, scouting ahead, and Charlie watched for him, an automatic reflex by now. She noticed that Connor barely glanced up, and repressed a smile. For a boy who had lived with a Mexican cartel, he had a lot to learn. Maybe he had never been on the losing team before, well, that had sure changed, she thought grimly, seeing Monroe coast over the road up ahead, disappearing into the foliage at the other side.

His confidence, and stealthy movements in the darkness, he was not a man with skills, it was wholly him, it was impossible to separate Monroe from his abilities, he wore them so well. He was a capable solider, an easy spy, and a natural born killer. If she didn't hate him for it so much, she would probably be able to admit her respect for him. As it was, she trusted him to scout the road ahead, knowing if there was danger, he would handle it.

She wondered how he felt in respect to her budding abilities. Miles had certainly called her a clumsy bonehead enough times, though, not recently. Her thoughts darkened as she thought of Miles, a longing always tinged with sadness. He was the closest she had to having her father back, and, since Rachel had joined them, Charlie had been disappearing in front of them, ceasing to exist a little more, every day. It sucked to be an afterthought to the people who meant everything to you, she guessed, but… that was life, suck it up.

She realised that when she admonished herself in her head, the voice sounded a whole lot like a certain hard-ass ex-general.

Up ahead, Monroe had stopped, and was waiting for them to catch up. He stood, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his expression strangely suspicious as he looked between Connor and Charlie.

She almost flushed when she thought about him finding them earlier, his look of disbelief, and something else, something a lot like disappointment.

"Time to make camp. Get off the road" Monroe said shortly, expecting agreement. Connor cracked his neck, and spoke a little too jovially.

"I don't know, I'm not that tired yet… still on a high from not dying" he said. Monroe shook his head slightly at that, and turned his attention to Charlie. Only her agreement would mean they stopped, as the mercs were hers to command. She lifted her head, smelling the air, feeling the temperature.

"He's right… It's gonna rain, better make camp now" she agreed, brushing past Connor to start toward the trees Monroe had indicated.

The camp was under a dense canopy, and against a rock face, which did make it mostly rain and wind free. They built a small fire, and then bedded down for the night. The mercs were taking watch, and Charlie felt a little unsure of what to do with an entire night's uninterrupted sleep. She hesitated when she unrolled her blanket, sensing a certain hovering quality to Connor's delay in placing his own. He was probably wondering if she wanted to sleep close, wanted to share warmth. Well, she didn't, and it was high time to disabuse him of the notion that her words might have only been said in jest. She'd meant every word. She deliberately waited until he had lain down, his face glancing at her with studied casualty, before stepped around to the other side of the circle, nearer the stone wall, and dropping her blanket. Connor glanced over one more time, before turning away, and pulling his blanket over him. She felt kind of like she'd just kicked a puppy, but, it had to be done, she reminded herself as she set her blanket down. She left her boots, even her jacket on, in case they had to move at a moments notice. She took her long knife from her ankle sheath, and wrapped it securely in her hand, then placed that one under her head, her head hiding it, and relaxed back.

"Trouble in paradise?" Monroe's voice was a whole lot closer than she'd expected, and she glanced up, to find him sitting in a shadowed recess of the wall, his legs stretched out before him, ankles crossed.

"Excuse me?" she muttered.

"Is the honeymoon already over? Or just a lovers spat?" he continued, and she caught a flash of anger from his shadowed blue eyes.

"Whatever" she mumbled and turned over, away from him. She could feel his gaze burning into her for a few moments after she'd turned away, but ignored it. What was his problem anyway, it wasn't like Connor had been a virgin, and she had done the honours. He was probably just pissed that something was out of his control, or maybe because of the mercs. That was probably it, she realised. For Monroe, being passed over was emasculating, to say the least, and even now, when she thought of his incredulous face, it brought a grin to her lips.

* * *

_In her dreams, she was in the trailer again. It smelled like sex, all sweat and musk, and it smelt like fear, all tears and cries for help. _

_The filthy bedsheets, and mirrored ceiling. The restraints nailed into the headboard. She looked down at herself, and her skin prickled with horror to realise she was wearing the underwear again. The rotting bow for her unwilling buyer. _

_She wriggled, trying to pull it down at the back, and up at the front, she stretched it as far as it could go, and it leapt back up in her fingers wake. _

_She had never felt more vulnerable, there, with her bare hands, in those foreign clothes, her bare feet. Her shackled wrists clanked against each other, and she saw to her horror, they had shortened the chain, there would be no strangling with this chain, which barely allowed her an inch to manoeuvre. She kicked her legs, thankful at least they were free. _

_A sound at the door stilled her, and she looked in panic at the metal handle, seeing it start to turn. She started to thrash around, a last opportunity for give to appear for her hands, or the futile hope of something sharp. _

_The door swung open, and a man was filling the doorway, staring at her with a leer. He looked tired, had dust on his shoulders from the road, apart from that, he could be anyone. He came in, and climbed the stairs heavily, pausing at the top to sweep his eyes over her. She felt her body go cold under his hungry stare. He turned to the counter, and pulled his jacket off, and unbuckled his belt, sliding it out of his belt loops._

"_I have to say, you make a welcome sight after the day I've had" Charlie felt tears spring to her eyes. _

"_Don't touch me, I swear – I'll kill you" she bit out, straining against the chain._

"_How are you planning on doing that? You're all alone... no one is coming to save you... better make your peace with it and be nice to me." He came over, sat down beside her on the bed, as she flinched away._

"_Old Bill isn't so bad, poppet... He can be real sweet, if you play nice" the man murmured, reaching out to caress her cheek. _

* * *

Her eyes shot open, and her knife was moving, a flash in the dark. It flew through the air, an arch with a mission, the dream figure's eye drawing closer. And then, just before the knife it's mark, an ice cold grip, as hard and unyielding as steel took hold of her wrist, froze her, as she started to come out of her dreams. She swallowed hard, her breath catching, tired as though she had been running. She looked around, disorientated, and then struggled to focus on the man holding her wrist in one hand, and her cheek in the other, the look of shock in his eyes, focused on the knife that currently hovered mere inches from his eye.

"Bad dream?" Monroe asked mildly, his light tone, letting the tension drop out her shoulders, and she slowly relaxed her hand and loosened her grip on the knife, as he let her wrist go. He was crouching beside her, squatting at her head, and she suddenly glanced at his other hand, the one that had been touching her cheek. She pulled her head away, and looked at him.

"What were you doing?" she asked, shifting away from him, breathing in the cool night air, and trying to clear her head. He studied her moment longer, before standing.

"You looked like you were having a nightmare... I was just trying to wake you up" he stated, and she was unable to see his face as he turned and walked away, returning to his spot by the wall, and waving an ok signal to one of the mercs on watch, looking over at them curiously. He settled back against the wall, and his face was once again a blank mask.

She bit down a question, about why he had thought to wake her by touching her cheek, instead of a boot in the side, like Conner got, but thought better of it. Why initiate an weird conversation.

"What were you dreaming of?"

"Nothing"

"Didn't look like nothing... you looked scared" he said, and his incredulous tone made her turn her head and look at him, laying it on her arm as she stretched back out on the hard ground.

"Oh, really... and you know what I look like scared?" she asked.

"No, not really... I don't know if I've ever seen you really scared. Pissed – yes, murderous, worried, sure... but not scared. Not even when you had a gun pointed in your face, and your mother had to make a choice to help me or not..." he mused.

"You actually remember that?" she asked, surprised.

"It was pretty memorable" was all he said in return, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head back against the rock, closing his eyes. She watched him a moment longer, before closing her eyes too.

"So, what were you dreaming about?" he asked again and she sighed. She should have known it wasn't going to be that easy.

"I don't know. The patriots I guess" she lied, and heard his soft snort.

"Liar" he goaded and she opened her eyes to find him watching her.

"What were you dreaming about, Charlotte?" he asked, once more, softly, his eyes imploring her for a moment.

"Why do you care?" she asked, and received a shrug.

"Yeah, well I'd rather not relive my nightmares because you're bored" she said turning onto her back and staring up at the sky, her hands tucking her blanket tighter around herself.

"It was Gould, right? And the pleasure town he made in New Vegas... the place Duncan sold you out to..." he stated, his voice calm, and certain. She stared at the sky, unwilling to acknowledge him.

"Now, we both know you can take care of yourself, most of the time, anyway, and you did get out of there... the only question is, _when _did you get out..." his quiet tone, and speculation was destroying her, and her teeth ground down on her lip to stop herself from saying something she'd regret.

"We are _not_ talking about this. It's none of your business anyway" she said and turned away from him.

He was quiet, so quiet, for so long, that she thought for a moment, he had fallen asleep.

"It's not my business... but it is my fault" he said, and his words were honest. He wasn't beating himself up with guilt, or even punishing himself with it, simply adding it to the never ending pile of things he blamed himself for. Dutifully adding almost getting her raped to his list of things he should burn in hell for.

"I'm not your responsibility, Monroe." she said, twisting around to shoot him a meaningful glance, which he took on the chin, tilting his head, and finally meeting her eyes.

"Sure you aren't" he said, his voice far from agreeing. She held that gaze a long moment, before turning back around.

"Get some sleep" she instructed, closing her eyes.

"You first" he said, his voice holding a strange sort of promise in that moment. And, even stranger, she did sleep, and she didn't dream. She wasn't sure why, but hoped it didn't have anything to do with the sad blue eyes that she felt on her, holding their vigil, long into that cold night.

Another day, another endless drudge by foot, carrying heavy weapons and heavier spirits. Well, almost all of them. Monroe and Conner were decidedly less low, Charlie observed, as she saw them whispering around the camp fire that night, then caught them speaking between themselves, when she had gone for water at the next camp. Conner had jogged over, his face instantly breaking into an easy smile. Monroe watched silently on. One thing Conner did not get from his father, was the easy smiles.

"Need a hand?" Charlie glanced up at him and shrugged, handing over one of the buckets. They started walking.

"You know... we could always take a detour, a little... afternoon delight" Conner said, and Charlie laughed.

"And why exactly would we do that?" she asked.

"Because... I'm cute, and you're bored?" his tone rose hopefully. She smiled at him, and they walked on, all the while under his father penetrative gaze.

It was no doubt that very interaction that led to the later conversation that she would forever be mortified to remember. Conner out front scouting, the mercs bringing up the end, and Charlie walking slightly ahead of Monroe, each lost in their own thoughts. She felt draw abreast of her, and felt the heavy expectation of him about to speak.

"So, tell me something. Earth, Wind and Fire back there, they're with you 24/7, right?" he finally asked.

"Yeah, so?"

"Well, I'm just wondering when you find the time to sneak off and bang my son?" his voice was strangely flat, going from casual to probing in no time at all, so fast it left Charlie spinning.

"Jeez..." she muttered as she glanced at him incredulously.

"I get it, I get it. When there's a will, there's a way, right?" he continued, apparently not done yet,

"Blackout whip your cack out" he muttered, and she recoiled at the words, the vulgarity of them. "Yeah, whatever that means." she said, determined not to show him how upsetting his commentary was.

"You know, it interesting...of all the guys you chose to screw, you choose a Monroe." he delivered the last blow, hurled the last accusation with a combination of curiosity and insinuation, and she could feel him staring at her, waiting for her to acknowledge him.

"I'm gonna be sick" she muttered, avoiding his eyes at all costs. What the hell he meant, and why the hell he thought enough about it to initiate a conversation about it was too confusing to consider.

She sped up a little, and without a backwards glance, jogged to catch up with Conner, who turned one of those full beam, innocently happy smiles on her, as she reached out to touch his arm. They walked on together, Monroe, and his judgemental words fading from her mind as the afternoon wore on.

Dinner was as quiet as usual, with little more than the clinking of weapons being cleaned, and caught meal sizzling over the small fire they had going. Charlie ate quietly, focusing on her meal, and listening to the occasional sounds of the forest around them, always shifting, always alive.

She saw Monroe huddled with Conner over to a side, whispering, as usual. She wondered what they were always talking about lately, and hoped to god it wasn't her.

Later, when she was lying down, about to fall asleep, she realised Monroe was nowhere to be found. She glanced around the small clearing, seeing the mercs, and Conner, already snoring in his blanket.

She lay for a while, dozing, before starting to drop off to sleep. She felt strangely heavy tonight, as sleep beckoned her, exhausted really.

At a certain point, she opened her eyes, and saw Monroe had returned, and was now lying on his back, a blanket draped carelessly over him, his hands behind his head, looking up at the stars. She saw him start to turn his head toward her, and snapped her eyes shut, before he could see that she had been watching him. She felt his gaze on her face a moment, and then it was gone. Feeling that deep exhaustion pull at her again, she finally succumbed.

Her last glimpse of her life, as she had known it, slowly disappearing.


	3. Brave New World

"_You're wondering who I am"_

Aaron Pitman looked out of the floor length glass window surrounding his bedroom. The city moved below him. The traffic rushing, the people milling. The world, awake. He sipped his coffee. It tasted particularly good this morning.

He checked his shirt in the mirror, and caught sight of Priscilla struggling to pull up a zip in the walk in wardrobe behind him. Turning he went to help her.

"_With parts made in Japan"_

"Thank sweetie… busy day today?" she asked, pulling her hair over one shoulder to allow him access to the zip. He nodded, concentrating on not pulling the delicate fabric.

"All done?" she asked, and he suddenly realised he had finished, and was dreaming, holding her shoulders. He let go and stepped back. Something felt off, he just wasn't sure what exactly. The hum of the TV kept giving him small shocks, as gunfire sounded from commercial, or loud music. It grated on him, and he felt strangely on edge. Probably the big meeting he had, the presentation, that must be it, he thought pushing the stray feelings aside.

Priscilla had started looking for shoes, rustling around in the spotlight recesses of the enormous storage unit, which neither of them used much.

He caught a glimpse of a flicker of green, reflected in the mirror behind him, and turned around, surprised to see the electronic light glowing from the darkness of the wardrobe, but when he did, it was gone.

"Aaron? Are you ready?" Priscilla was asking him, her tone growing a little exasperated. He nodded mutely, gripping his coffee mug, and following his wife from their room, throwing one last glance at the reflective cavern behind him.

* * *

"Charlie, just come by for dinner, it wouldn't hurt, you haven't been home in weeks. I'll make your favourite"

"You mean you'll order my favourite, right?" Charlie teased, and could almost imagine the frustrated look on her mother's face at her words.

"Danny would love to see you..." Rachel said, the magic words, and Charlie sighed internally. Her mom was pulling out the big guns.

"Are you going to come?" Rachel asked, after a pregnant pause. Charlie paused in wiping the bar top as she questioned whether she could really manage it.

"I have to work at 10… so… I could do an early dinner, I guess"

"Your enthusiasm is overwhelming. Can you manage the desert?" Rachel said, her tone brusque now she had accomplished what she wanted.

"Sure – ice-cream it is" Charlie said, childishly picking the easiest and least effort desert she could think of.

"Wonderful, and pick up some extra… your uncle Miles might be coming" Charlie stopped moving at that, her heartbeat picking up. There was only one reason Miles might be coming, and it was the closest Charlie and her mother had come to mentioning why today was so important.

She cleared her throat, and spoke softly.

"Sure, anything else?"

"He'll probably bring Bass, especially today… so, just make sure you get enough ice-cream" Rachel finished, and Charlie nodded, before she remembered her mother couldn't see her.

"Sure thing. I gotta go mom. See you tonight" she said and hung up abruptly.

_"____`I saw her today at the reception, a glass of wine in her hand"_

The Stones serenaded her as stretched her arms out on the bar top and sighed. She caught a reflection of the twinkling fairy lights strung around the bar in the reflection in the wood. Green, and white, they winked at her, as she studiously avoided thinking more about dinner. It was just dinner. That's all. Dinner with her uncle, on the anniversary of her father's death.

"You sure you wanna work tonight? I can cover you?" asked Jason, her co-worker as he opened the glass washer, laying out a towel to start wiping them down.

_"____You can't always get what you want"_

She took another moment and when she looked back up and gave him a smile, her eyes were dry.

"It's fine. Seriously."

* * *

"Buddy, are you sure you wanna do that right before dinner… you know Rachel, she'll smell it on you" Bass said, as he glanced over at his best friend Miles, who was currently rifling through the bag they'd picked up at the grocery store, and cracking the seal on a bottle of Jack.

He drove carefully, thinking the last thing he needed was to be pulled over with Miles drinking Jack from the bottle in the front next to him.

The city lights were blurred across the windscreen as a misty rain fell. The wipers thumped in the silence that stretched between them. Feeling jumpy, he reached forward and flipped on the radio.

Commentators babbled about sports, he switched to news, more depressing, he decided and snapped it off. They had almost arrived anyway, he figured. Time for a pep talk.

"So, this is nice, seeing your family for dinner, right?" he asked, hopefully, pulling up to the curb of the gracious townhouse the Mathesons called home. He shut the ignition off, and waited in the following silence for a response. He got a grunt and a swig of a bottle.

He shifted in his seat and looked over to his friend, who was slouched down, his feet on the dash and bottle cradled between his knees.

"Hey, ease up. We're here, in case you haven't noticed. If you wanna get wrecked, let's go out and do it right, after dinner" Bass reasoned with him, trying to pry the bottle from his grasp. Miles gave it up without much of a fight, something Bass took as a positive sign, and he smiled, and clapped him on the shoulder.

"There we go… better already." He said, still smiling as he turned around and caught sight of a figure approaching the house from the opposite direction.

The sidewalk was wet with rain, and a fine mist had settled on her pulled up hood, dampening the ends of her long hair, sticking from the bottom. Charlies' hands were jammed in her pockets, and her boots were squeaking slightly against the wet tarmac. She glanced up, seeing a familiar car sitting at the curb, but before her eyes could lock with anyone inside it, she swung her head back down, the curtain or her hair and her hood concealing her expression. She saw her childhood house ahead, and turned up the stairs, jogging up energetically, the bag with the carton of ice-cream swinging as she ascended. Pushing open the door, without knocking, she disappeared inside.

Bass unscrewed the top of the bottle, and took a long swig, welcoming the burn of scotch of as it seared down his throat. His eyes now rested on the closed door. He felt himself being watched and turned to see Miles giving him a narrow look.

"Well, are we going or not?" he asked, and Bass capped the bottle, threw it in the back and got out the car, grabbing the grocery bag from Miles' feet as he went. Together they headed toward the house.

* * *

"Danny's resting before dinner, don't be too noisy" Rachel warned as she quietly set out plates and serving bowls, which she indicated to Charlie to begin transferring take out food into. Charlie dutifully started the tedious process, putting the empty containers in the trash after.

"Why do you bother? Just serve it in the containers, it's not like Miles will care… or even notice" Charlie muttered as she washed and dried her hands on a towel. Rachel was about to answer, when the doorbell rang and the both looked toward the entrance hall, than back at each other.

"That's what you're wearing?" Rachel asked pointedly as she untied a completely unnecessary apron from around her waist and smoothed her hair back. Charlie knew her tight, low slung black jeans and fitted vest was a world apart from her mother's little black dress.

"I don't have time to change before work" Charlie muttered, turning to pour some wine into a glass. Rachel stared at her wilful daughter a beat longer, and then went to answer the door.

Charlie heard male voices spill in from outside, one low and gruff, seemed to be doing all the talking. Bass. Miles was quiet, as usual these days, and Charlie frowned as she tried to remember what her uncle's voice sounded like when he was laughing, or even smiling. She sipped the cool dry white her mother favoured, rolled it around in her mouth, and steeled herself for the oncoming encounter. The voices moved closer, she heard her mother directing someone into the kitchen with a grocery bag, her soothing, hostess tones already grating on Charlie. She downed her glass of wine in one long swallow, and turned back to refill.

"Charlotte" Sebastian Monroe's voice had always unsettled her, it was always unexpected, full of knowing, even since she had been a teenager with a crush on her uncle's friend. She bit down a smile at his hesitant tone. Of course, he too, today, would be wary of her.

"Sebastian" she answered, her head cocked to the side, using his full name, as he had hers. He never seemed to age, she mused, as she watched him come into the kitchen, setting a bulging bag on the table. Perhaps it was that quality some men had, that charisma, that as they got older, they only got more attractive. She had seen it at work often enough, older men, a little world weary, a little beat up, a little disreputable, a little too cocky, who always drew the attention of the hottest young things in the bar. Maybe. If so, Monroe was definitely one of those guys, she mused as she watched him shake off his coat, revealing a button down underneath, rolled at the sleeves and dark jeans. He'd made an effort then, for tonight, for Miles, and for her father, it would seem. Because of that, she gave him a small grateful smile as she stepped forward and helped him unpack the bag.

"Where do you want it?" he asked, holding up a bag of some sort of fancy fruits. She caught his eye as he asked that, unable to stop a wicked smile curling her lip, her mind always in the gutter, she admonished herself as she waved her hand in a vague direction. He narrowed his eyes at her, tried to figure her out, but as always, it was impossible, unless she wanted him to. He turned to follow her direction, and set the fruit down, stopping himself from looking her over, the hints of tan skin and slender waist enough to make him uncomfortable over dinner.

"Charlie… How you doing kid?" she heard her uncle's voice from the door and smiled at him instinctively, going to him, and wrapping her arms around him. He didn't look so great, and it hurt to see it. She held on a moment longer than necessary, and when she pulled back, she felt the tremor of his hands on her back. She smiled up at him, and he blinked, caught in her brilliant blue stare.

"I'm alright… haven't seen you in a while. How come you guys never come and see me at work anymore?" she asked as she stepped back, though still touching his arm.

"You don't need two old men like us cramping your style" he said lamely, jumping when Bass appeared, clapping an arm around his shoulders.

"Hey, who are you calling old?" he complained as the three of them headed in the direction of the dining room.

Charlie looked at the back of her uncle's head, even that seemed defeated as she trailed after them. Dinner was certainly going to be long, she thought sourly.

* * *

Aaron gazed at his computer screen, the cursor was blinking steadily, and he suddenly realised he didn't know how long he had been staring. He took a deep breath, and rolled his shoulders, cracked his wrists, they ached where they had been poised over the keyboard. He stood up and made his way over to the Starbucks coffee booth they had in their office. In his office. His company. He reminded himself as he walked along the rows of computers, past giant screens, and couches and easy chairs, ping pong tables and table football. He had created his dream work environment, and he got to spend everyday there. The office was dark now, small pools of illumination lighting his way at intervals. He loved this time, when everyone else had gone, and he could work in silence and peace, not directing anyone, or making decisions. Just him and his computer.

He repeated his path moments later, clutching a coffee, sipping it slowly, enjoying it. He reached his glass walled office and stepped inside, sinking down into his chair again. Discarded headphones played a tiny melody and he slipped them on.

"_I've got a secret I've been hiding under my skin  
My heart is human, my blood is boiling, my brain IBM"_

This song, it'd been stuck in his head all day, he though as he looked back at what he had been working on. He couldn't remember now, but there was a blank word document before him. He went to close it, about to click on losing the changes, when he noticed the page number in the bottom bar. Pages: 26 of 26. He frowned, clicking cancel and returning to the doc. 26 pages? He wondered if he had fallen asleep leaning on the keyboard.

He went to the navigation keys and scrolled up. Goosebumps started to pop up on his neck, crawling over his back, and the seemed to swarm over him as he saw writing, words even, the same ones, repeated over and over and over again. For countless times, stretched across the white page, their black little shapes rooting him to the spot.

26 pages with the same words, over and over again.

Words he had typed, though he had no memory of it.

An address.

* * *

"Come on Charlie, let us give you a lift… it's cold out here" Bass said, leaning back against the car, his hands in his pockets, tucked away to stop him from doing anything he shouldn't. Denim handcuffs.

He watched her, her head bowed, kicking at a leaf on the street, her long legs encased in some of the luckiest jeans he's ever seen, everything else hidden by a bulky coat, except her face. And what a face, he thought, unable to stop a smile coming to his lips as she suddenly looked up and caught his gaze on her, and gave him a suspicious look. Her cheeks were bright in the chilly air, and her breath puffed out, though her eyes were unclouded, despite what had just happened, he knew she was upset.

Danny hadn't made it down to dinner after all. Born with congenital heart and lung defects, Charlie's brother would never have a normal life, and it was practically a miracle he had survived as long as he had. Bass had waited downstairs as Miles had gone with Charlie to stop in and say hi. If possible, his friend had seemed to wilt even more before his eyes afterward.

"Come on, these mean streets aren't for a girl like you to be walking alone" Miles said, opening the passenger side door.

"I can take care of myself Miles." She responded, the colour heightening in her cheeks for a moment, as Miles shrugged and got in the car, the slam reverbing over them in the quiet night air. She stood awkwardly, and Bass stood up, reaching out to stop her as she started to turn away.

"Hey, we both know you can… just, let him have this one, tonight. Let him take care of you… for once" he reasoned, leaning down a little to catch her lowered gaze. She thought for a moment, checked her watch and then nodded.

"Fine." She sighed, following him back to the car.

"That's a good girl" he said, ducking away as she reached out to swat him for his condescending tone. He opened the driver's door, and pulled the seat back, standing aside to let her past, and withholding a groan as she climbed in, her especially fine ass in the air.

He fixed the seat, and sat down, closing the door with a bang, before turning to his two passengers with a smile.

"Buckle up" he said, and started the car. What a night, what a strange, awkward and long night, they had all endured. God knows why Rachel thought it a good idea to be together on the anniversary of Ben's death, it didn't seem to make anyone feel better, though he supposed they wouldn't know if they felt worse, considering she insisted on it every year. His eye caught Charlie's in the rear mirror, and couldn't help but marvel over how different she was. From her father, her mother and her brother. She was a survivor, she was tough, alright. She had a strength he didn't often meet in civilians. It was magnetic.

A car beeped in front of him, and he looked back at the lights, which had changed.

"Eyes on the road, Bass" Miles muttered, and Bass wondered wildly for a moment it he knew, if he suspected. But no, there was no way, how could there be? He told himself as they drove in silence toward Charlie's bar.

* * *

"You didn't have to come in Jason. I told you I'd be fine" Charlie said, without annoyance, she hoped, as she refilled the ice bin and crouched down, picking up stray runaways. Jason stood stiffly at the counter, his friends forgotten in a corner.

"I didn't just come in for you, Matheson. So self-absorbed." He muttered, but his tone was too strained to carry if off.

"Well, if you ever catch me coming here on my days off… shoot me" she said with a laugh and eye roll as she stood, brushing herself off and approaching a customer at the bar.

"What can I get you?" she asked, smiling up at the young couple.

Jason stood a few moments longer, and then reluctantly turned, going back to his friends, but still glancing over. Charlie busied herself in mixing the girls Cosmo, and kept her eyes away from the corner. The last thing she needed was to encourage him.

"He's got it bad… poor little guy" a dry voice came from the corner bar stood, in the deserted end of the bar, the bit with the tenders perch, where she stashed her books and read when it was quiet.

She shot a quelling glance over in that direction, and continued her intricate measuring.

Bass smiled, looking down, nursed his scotch, swirling it, warming it. It half amused him, half irritated him to see the young bartender smitten with Charlie. He could understand it, of course, but that didn't mean he liked it. He took a swig of his drink, and savoured the flavour. Charlie was letting him work his way along the top shelf whiskies, on the house, and this one was definitely worth another round.

He looked up, seeing the customers had gone, and saw Charlie wiping down the countertop, her slim arms lightly muscled, her face lost in contemplation. She glanced over at him, before returning to the glass shelves above the bar, and reaching up for a high up bottle. He wondered absently if half the cost of those top shelf brands were for a glimpse of that toned naval, and reckoned he'd probably be a connoisseur if that was the case.

She returned with a bottle, deep golden in colour, as she unscrewed the cork top, she put her nose above it and sniffed.

"Oaky flavour, vanilla undertones" she said, as she put a little in his glass. He followed along with her game, swirling it and then tasting it, before offering the glass to her. She studied him a moment, before casting a glance over to the booth where Miles had passed out, before leaning forward. He had expected her to take the glass, yet, instead, she leaned in and put her mouth directly on the glass rim, and waited for him to tilt it into her mouth. He did so slowly, savouring the eroticism of the moment, his eyes glued to her mouth, her pliant expression, her look of mischief. She swallowed and then leaned away, letting her tongue flick over her lips, lapping up every drop.

"Hmmm" she hummed deep in her throat, before reaching a fingertip up, to the corner of her lip and wiping off excess, and then sucking it of her finger. Bass knew she was just messing with him, but it didn't stop his mouth from drying up, his palms from damping or prevent him from having to shift around in his stool.

"Charlotte Matheson. Stop that right now. Or else" he warned, his deep voice deliciously full of threat, and she couldn't help but smile at it.

"Or else what?" she asked innocently.

"Or else… I'll wake your uncle up right now, and tell him all about it…" he warned.

"I'd love to see that" she challenged right back, and smiled at him as they held that look between them. He abruptly stood up, his stool scraping back, and he saw her eyes widen in surprise.

"Fine." He said, and ambled away from the bar.

"Bass!" she hissed from behind him, and he heard her hurrying after him around the end of the counter. She grabbed his arm when he was only a few meters away from the sleeping Miles, and spun him around. She was so beautiful, her blue eyes wide with panic, her body ridged with tension. She gripped his arm hard, and then, without a word, spun around and walked away, in the direction of the bathrooms.

He waited a heartbeat.

Two.

Then followed.

Pushing open the door, he found her standing over the sink, looking at him in the mirror, both of them reflected there, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Look – I'm sorry… today is just…" she started, but didn't get far as he crossed the room in two long strides and spun her around. His hands slipped under her, pulling her up onto the sink unit, before returning to her face, cupped her cheeks, and his thumbs ran across her cheekbones as his mouth bore down on hers.

They kissed for a lifetime that way, as though she was water and him a man dying of thirst, they kissed for the pain of that day, so she didn't have to cry or speak. They kissed for all the things unsaid between them, for the formality he had had to show her all evening, when he knew what she had needed all along.

When he finally pulled away, she clung to him, he pressed his lips to her forehead and wished he could removed all the worries and memories that lived there. She sighed deeply, placing a hand over his heart as she did, before looking up, into his eyes.

"We have to tell them… sooner or later… you know we do" he murmured, his voice a warm whisper across her eyelids. She squeezed them shut again.

"I know… I – just don't want Miles to kill you. I kind of like you" she whispered, smiling as she felt a laugh rumble in his chest.

"Well, I kind of like you too" he replied, smiling into her hair, before pressing a kiss there.

"That is why we have to tell… and we have to do it soon. I'm done hiding this Charlie, I don't care what anyone thinks… I won't hide it anymore" he said, and she pulled back and looked up at him. Her expression was concerned, and he wished he could ease it.

"I - _like_ - you too much to hide it anymore" he said with a creased smile, using her words as an invisible mask. She hesitated, a moment, a moment longer, and then smiled, and as always, when Charlotte Matheson smiled at him, it felt like a sunrise breaking across his face.

"Ok, we'll tell them. But you have to promise me something… you'll bring a gun for protection"

* * *

Aaron paid the taxi and stepped out onto the street. It was quiet, and residential, and a world away from his glass palace high above the heart of the city. He watched the taxi drive off, and wondered again why he had not wanted to call his car service. For some reason, he didn't want any witnesses to this madness. He crossed the street, and stopped in front of the house. It was a cosy looking townhouse, indistinguishable from the rest of the street. There were lights on inside, and as he started to climb the stairs, he wondered what the hell he could say to explain his presence here. On the top step, he rang the bell as he heard a car pass slowly by, it's window open and music spilled out, and filled the street.

"_To keep me alive, just keep me alive  
Somewhere to hide to keep me alive"_

The door opened and he fond himself face to face with a blonde woman, in a black dress, who was looking at him politely.

"Good evening. Can I help you?" she asked.

"My name is Aaron Pitman, and… I don't know why… but I think I was supposed to find you".


	4. Brave New World pt 2

Rachel Matheson had been staring out her kitchen window, at her darkened garden, when the doorbell rang. Upstairs, her son slept fitfully, her daughter, out at her job, as she called it, and she was alone… always alone. She watched the rain fall as she let the water run into the sink and over the dirty dishes. She looked at all the excess plates, necessitated by pretending to have cooked the dinner they had all eaten. Something that had gone wholly unnoticed by both guests.

Then the doorbell had pulled her from her melancholy thoughts, and she had gone to answer it, pulled open the heavy wooden door, and stared at the man standing in the drizzle before her. A familiar stranger.

"My name is Aaron Pitman, and… I don't know why… but I think I was supposed to find you".

* * *

Her night had only gotten more strange from then. She supposed she shouldn't have invited him in, this stranger who was obviously struggling with differentiating reality from fantasy, as he paced the living room, wetting her rug and talking about computers and a song that kept playing everywhere he went. At one point he had turned around and made her blood run cold in fright, as he picked up a photograph from over the fireplace, and said easily.

"Wow Charlie looks so young here… Ben too" the words had come from his mouth, and yet, when she had looked hard at him, his shock, she could almost believe he barely knew he had spoken them.

"How do you know Charlie? How do you know Ben?" She had asked, standing, putting distance between herself and this stranger who was becoming more threatening by the moment. Aaron had shaken his head, his expression as bewildered as hers.

"I don't know… I swear, you have to believe me… I – I don't think I've ever met either of them… but I know them… I… I know Charlie, I… watched her grow up" he stammered, and Rachel moved to the front hall, going for the phone.

"Please… you have to believe me, I – don't know what's happening" he insisted, following her to the hall, yet making no move to stop her as she reached for the phone.

"Are you calling Miles? Good… he'll know what to do" Aaron said, and backed up as Rachel turned to him, her eyes wide, clutching the phone to her chest.

"Is this some kind of joke…? Did Sebastian put you up to this?" she was demanding, following him as he backed away from her advance. He was shaking his head vigorsly.

"No, god no. Who is Sebastian?" he was babbling as he started backing down the stairs. Suddenly Rachel cried out, and before he knew it, his feet were slipping from him, and he was falling backwards. He saw her reaching out to him, as though it were in slow motion, only, as she leaned forward, the Rachel Matheson standing in front of him changed, her dress dissolving into battered jeans and a worn leather jacket, her sleek bun turning into a mass of blond curls. She seemed so familiar in that instant, as his hands reached toward her, he almost remembered where he had met her before. These thoughts flew through his head, before it met the corner of the fireplace, and everything went black.

* * *

Charlie felt the weight of the day settle on her as she flipped off that lights over the bar, leaving on only the green fairy lights and duke box. She tied her hair in a messy knot on top of her head as she shrugged on her coat, and cast a glance over at Miles, who Bass had managed to get into a sitting position.

"I can help you close" Jason was saying, and Charlie almost felt her patience snap. All night he had lingered, and she was getting sick of finding nice ways to tell him it wasn't going to happen.

"No need… go catch up to your friends" she said, a summoning a tired smile. He looked at her, this puppy dog look that she hated.

"What about those guys… I should at least help you get them out" he said, glancing suspiciously over at Bass, who was now making Miles drink some coffee. He might have noticed their shared absences from the bar.

"That's my uncle actually… so, I'm all set" she said, wrapping her scarf around her neck and coming out from behind the bar.

"Really? I didn't know… he looks a little… worse for wear" Jason said.

"Yeah, well, he has a right to today" she said, an edge to her voice, as she moved past him.

"Of course, I'm sorry Charlie… I just wish you'd talk to me…" he said, suddenly stopping her with a hand on her arm. She froze and turned around to face him.

"I know today must be hard for you, but you push me away, I just want to support you…" he was saying , his face the picture of sympathy. She quelled the urge to tell him to shove his pity, and stepped closer to him, hoping she could speak without Bass hearing, and certainly hoped Jason stopped touching her before he saw.

"Look Jason, that's really sweet… and maybe one day, a long time ago, it's what I wanted. But, I'm not a little girl anymore and I don't want your pity, or your sympathy. Poor Charlie, with her dead father and dying brother… I don't need it. I'm not that person, in your mind's eye. I don't need coddling or to be wrapped in cotton wool. It's not what I want" she said firmly, but gently, she hoped, and saw her words register in him.

"So – what? You prefer being alone? I don't understand you Charlie –" he said, his tone confused and a little embarrassed. His hand had tightened on her arm, and that tiny act of possession made her step back, and pull her arm out his grip.

"You don't have to understand me – just, take my word for it. I'm not the girl for you, Jason."

"I think you are" he insisted stepping closer, and Charlie flinched as she felt a solid presence appear at her shoulder.

"I think she said she wasn't… don't disagree with a beautiful woman, kid. You'll always lose" Bass said, doing his best to maintain his playful tone. The two men stared at each other, and Charlie shifted uncomfortably in the mounting tension. She turned around and touched Bass's hand, bringing his attention to her, seeing his whole face soften as she reached his eyes, and pleaded with him wordlessly. Jason, standing still, watching them, could hardly mistake that connection, that wordless bond, the way they spoke in that silence, the things communicated with only that look, with that simple touch. He threw his hands up, and turned toward the door.

"Whatever, see you tomorrow Charlie" he muttered, heading out into the rain, realising that the couple behind him hadn't spared him a glance.

_"Come on skinny love just last the year  
Pour a little salt we were never here"_

The music wound around them, and Charlie leaned into the hollow of his shoulder for a long moment, before a cough from Miles sent them scattering apart. She walked over to the duke box, the light glowing across her bare skin in the darkened bar. Bass stood, watching her, taking in every detail. She stretched her hands onto the cool glass top, and her hips swayed slightly as she mouthed the words along with the singer. She loved his song, he knew, she loved to listen to it lying in bed, watching the winter rain drip against the glass of the window in her apartment. She loved to trace the words against his back, just when he was falling asleep, his arms always trying to pull her closer, keep her tucked into his body, protect her without her knowledge, sooth her without her notice. But she always wriggled free, nocturnal, roaming the room, reading, cooking, sitting on the fire escape and staring at the city, in silence, so complete, sometimes he would wonder if she had fallen asleep. But he didn't disturb her, didn't intrude.

Because he knew what it was to spend time with one foot here, and another in another time, another place, with those you'd lost. He had one part of Charlie, and her ghosts had another, and it was alright, it was enough. One part of Charlie was still the best thing he'd ever had. The best thing that had ever allowed itself to belong to him.

_"I tell my love to wreck it all  
Cut out all the ropes and let me fall"_

"Bass – let's go" Miles called, suddenly breaking the tension remaining in the empty, lowly lit bar. He tore his eyes away from the girl who had started to take up his every waking thought, and caught sight of his friend, now perched on the chair, looking rough as hell.

"How you doing buddy?" he asked, going over and grabbing his coat, swinging it on, and offering Miles his own. Miles didn't deign to answer that as he slipped an arm into his coat, and swayed a little unsteadily.

"We are outta here kid, see you next year" Miles was slurring at Charlie, who was standing watching them a little forlornly. Bass knew how much it hurt her to see her uncle turn into this guy once a year.

"Actually, I was going to offer Charlie a lift home. It's really coming down out there" he said, reaching for an umbrella from the stand to shelter her with. Miles nodded a response, and the three started out the door. Charlie pulled her hood up and closed the door, turning around to lock it. Bass opened the umbrella and held it over her, earning an eye roll. He knew she hated it when he treated her like she was a delicate flower. And, ok, maybe she wasn't quite the fragile orchid other girls might fancy themselves to be, but it didn't mean he didn't want to be her knight in shining armour once in a while.

In the quiet street behind them, Miles's cell phone started to ring.

"Rachel?" his confused voice asked.

* * *

Charlie opened the door to her apartment, and stepped inside. It was small, and pretty cramped, but it was her own space, and it was all she needed. She wasn't in the mood for her mother's hysterics, so had asked to be dropped off at home. Besides, she had a ritual to perform. It was silly, and she knew it, yet every year, she couldn't stop herself.

She kicked her boots off, and unzipped her coat in the small foyer, placing her boots neatly on the shoe rack and piling her coat into a stuffed closet. Walking along the hall, she reached the kitchen and put the kettle on, then turned to her room, pulling off her tank top, and sliding down her jeans. She caught sight of her body in the full length mirror beside her bed, and studied it for moment. Wondering for a moment, what it was that Bass found so compelling. She was not delicate, she was sturdily built, muscled, and strong, and as she removed her bra, she pictured his hands coming around to cup her breasts, his stubbled jaw scratching her neck as he held from behind, pulled her into him, his hands roaming over body as though she were a exotic treasure that he had uncovered and longed to keep to himself as long as possible. She traded her underwear for a pair of pyjama shorts and a loose t-shirt, letting her hair fall down across her shoulders, she slipped her feet into slippers and followed the sound of the kettle whistling in the kitchen. She removed it from the gas, poured some over a tea bag into her favourite mug, the same mug every year, and sat down. Pulling open the drawer under the table, the one she didn't use for anything else, she smiled instinctively at the sight of her father wrinkled smile. She smoothed the old picture out, and set it propped against the fruit bowl as she wrapped her hands around her tea cup.

"Hi dad" she whispered, as she raised her mug to him.

* * *

"You took long enough" Rachel admonished as she let Miles and Bass in. They were both wet from the rain, and thankfully it had had a sobering effect on Miles, who was looking much more alert.

"We were dropping your daughter off safe and sound at home" Bass said, his annoyance at Rachel Matheson always flaring up in relation to Charlie. She looked taken aback for a moment, before dismissing it and turning toward the living room. She trotted down the stairs, throwing a slightly panicked look over her shoulder, and Bass followed intrigued. What could have upset the implacable Dr Matheson, he wondered idly as he followed Miles, sticking an arm out quickly as he swaying toward and expensive looking statue sitting on an edge.

The sight that greeted him in the living room, was not one he could have imagined. There was a man, a large one, lying comatose on the floor, his arms sprawled to the sides, his face strangely peaceful.

"Jesus, Rachel… please tell me you didn't kill him" he muttered, and Rachel let out a shrill laugh.

"What's going on, Rachel, who is this guy?" Miles asked, crouching beside him.

"I don't know him… but he knows us – all of us, by name, he even knew… Ben. He recognised him from the picture… Charlie too" she said, and Bass moved forward.

"Well, let's wake him up and find out exactly why" he said, a menacing tone creeping into his voice. It worried him no end, Charlie working in a bar, knowing how many lost and lonely men wandered in and thought they'd found their own personal angel, he should know, he'd been one of them. The man suddenly moved, and they all jumped back. He moaned, and his eyes fluttered, before opening and fixing on Miles.

"Oh, thank god…Miles. I had the weirdest dream… I – I don't feel so good" he said as he tried to sit up and then sank dizzily back.

"Just, take it easy" Miles said uncomfortably, crouching down beside the stranger. They looked uneasily at each other, all at a lose about what to do with this strange man who had shown up.

"Rachel – get Aaron some water" Miles said, and Rachel went to comply. Bass turned to Miles, and raised an eyebrow at him.

"How do you know his name is Aaron?"

"I dunno, Rachel must had told me, I guess" Miles said, frowning. They shared a confused look, as Rachel returned with the water, and the man took it gratefully, gulping it down. He shuddered as the cold liquid seemed to calm him, and he then looked around, his face confused, and a little lost. He looked hard at Rachel, and then Miles, and finally at Bass himself. He blinked at him.

"Sebastian, of course…" he was muttering to himself, before he put his hands under himself and attempted to get up. Miles and Bass helped him stand, and then stepped back as he attempted to get his balance, touching the back of his head, checking for blood.

"I suppose the blow to the head must have scrambled the nanites" he was whispering under his breath as he looked around, seemingly obsessed with the room, the furniture, the lights, and TV most of all.

"Look buddy, you've had your fun. Why don't you just tell us what's going on" Miles said, his tone quite reasonable, yet Bass knew, it was a heartbeat away from threatening.

"What's going is… this isn't real. It's a dream, or some kind of hallucination… none of this is real" The man, Aaron stuttered.

"He's mad, why are you even entertaining this?" Bass demanded, already thinking of how he could kick the clown out on his ass and get home to Charlie, if she called him, that was.

Rachel shook her head wordlessly, her face confused, before she spoke.

"Because… I don't know… there is part of me that believes him… he is so familiar" Bass and Miles turned to her, eyebrows raised at that. Bass whistled long and lowly.

"Wow, Rachel, I know you're a bit wacky, with your bad science, and nanotech crap – but this… this guy is nuts, and so are you for believing him." He laughed, cutting abruptly off as Aaron suddenly spun around and seized his arm.

"What did you say? Nanotech? Rachel – are you working with Nano technology?"

"First, get your hands off me, second, explain what you're going on about, now, before I kick you out" Bass warned hi voice low, almost a growl.

"Oh, please, I am totally not scared of you anymore" Aaron said, rolling his eyes at him and sitting heavily down in a chair.

"You guys are best friends, right?" he said, indicating Bass and Miles.

'Hardly a long shot" Bass countered as he sat on the edge of the settee, watching the man closely.

"Ok, well, how about this one. You two are in love, have been for years… since before Charlie was born" he said, indicating Miles and Rachel and the air seemed to be sucked from the room. Bass looked in alarm at Miles, whose face was carefully blank, and Rachel's whose was draining of blood.

"Are you two together in this world?" he continued, seeming oblivious to the bombs he was dropping.

"This world? What are you talking about?" Bass demanded, louder this time.

"Ok, calm down, General. You see… Rachel made them, Rachel and Ben, but they malfunctioned, and multiplied out of control… they ended the world, destroyed the world. They sucked all the energy from every source we had, even every battery… and 15 years passed… 15 long years, with no order, no electricity, no medicine, no government." He was rambling, talking in nonsensical sentences, and seeming to become more and more agitated. Suddenly he cut off, and stared at the window, transfixed. Slowly the rest of them turned to follow his gaze, and they were caught in his wonder as they saw something extraordinary outside. In the cold, winter's night, the backyard outside had somehow, improbably, filled with green fireflies. They swirled and swarmed, and… waited somehow.

"What the hell?" swore Miles as they approached the window.

* * *

_On the day her father's funeral, Charlie had dressed in a black dress of her mothers, and stood at the front door, watching cars arrive one by one, up the twisting road of her neighbourhood. She had heard Danny coughing through the wall, and had felt so removed from herself at that moment, her reflection was a strangers in the glass. She had seen Miles arrive, and Uncle Bass. She hadn't seen him at her uncle's side in a while. A tour of Iraq, Miles had told her. Looked like he had returned to tell the tale. _

_What a funny thing. That he could go to Iraq and back. Live in a warzone, and yet be standing in her driveway holding flowers, in an old looking black suit. While they all prepared to bury her mild mannered father, a man who had never participated in conflict in his life. _

_There were no rules anymore, she realised at that moment. There was no right or wrong, good or bad. Stuff just happened, and it happened to who ever it happened to, without rhyme or reason. He had looked up for a moment, and caught her eye, the cold morning in Winter, strangely sunny, inappropriately cheerful. She had watched him, looked him up and down, and not bothering to hide her frank appraisal, as he had tilted his head to the side, and gave her look, a considering one. It wasn't full of false pity, and morbid curiosity, as she had gotten from her University classmates and professors, even from her friends. _

"_Charlotte" he said, a solemn tone, offering her the flowers, which she took automatically, her hands curling around the bound stems. It was all he had said, and she was grateful. _

_Later, after the service and the churchyard, when she found herself putting her mother to bed, and her uncle to sleep on the couch, Danny also upstairs and asleep, she had been surprised to turn around in the silent house and find him still there. He had taken off his jack, leaving a dark shirt underneath. There was something off about the way he looked in that outfit, like seeing a jungle cat in a cage. It didn't quite fit him, he seemed a little uncomfortable, pulling at his tie, and unbuttoning the top of his shirt. _

"_You can go – everyone's asleep I think" she had said to him, kicking off the sensible low heels she had worn, now a few inches with mud licked up the sides. Moving through to the kitchen, past him, she had let the pins out her hair and let it fall in a whoosh around her shoulders, padding barefoot into the kitchen, she slammed a window shut, and stood suddenly still leaning over the sink and staring out at the garden. _

"_Do you want me to go?" he'd asked politely, the second thing he'd said to her in more than 5 years. _

"_I don't care" she had replied honestly, turning back, and crossing the room to the alcohol cupboard, leaning down and pulling out a bottle of scotch, setting it on the counter, with a couple of shot glasses. He had inspected her again, this curious expression, taking in her defensive posture, her determined face and the glasses._

"_Then… I'll stay" he'd said, rolling the sleeves on his shirt, and settling at the table, clearing plastic plates and empty juice cartons from the surface, making space for the bottle and glasses she was setting out. She sat down, crossed legged on the chair, pulling the dress over her knees, poured the first two shots._

"_To Ben" Bass had said, pausing only a moment before downing it, followed by Charlie. She closed her eyes, let the sting of the spirit warm her, before reaching for the bottle. _

"_To the meaninglessness of existence" she had toasted, slugging back another shot, losing count of the number. He had drunk along with her, but she sensed he wanted to say something, but didn't and the longer that went on, the more it annoyed her. _

"_Why don't you say you're sorry for my loss, or something?" she'd demanded after numerous shots. _

"_Would it help?" he'd asked, raising an eyebrow at her, or at least she thought he had, it was hard to see clearly. She laughed, a sudden startling sound._

"_Of course not… but it's what people do… to be nice"_

"_Maybe I'm not a very nice guy" he said with a lopsided smile that made her heart thump strangely. She narrowed her eyes at him, her impulsiveness, her long forgotten crush roaring back to life, her drunkenness making her brave, she had leant forward and put a hand on his knee, slowly sliding it upward. _

"_In that case, there is something I would much rather be doing… if you really want to make me feel better" she had slurred, stopping only as his hand closed around her wrist._

* * *

Charlie tidied up her tea things, putting her photo back into the drawer for another year. She brushed her teeth, leaning on the sink, humming Skinny Love still, her mind drifting to the bar.

"_Staring at the sink of blood and crushed veneer"_

She sang softly, spitting into the sink, about to stand up when she spotted a dark patch on her arm. She rubbed her hand against a towel, and glanced back, suddenly stilling as what she saw froze her. Her hand was dirty, filthy almost. How had she not noticed this? What had she touched? She ran the tap and started to run her hands under the hot water. Looking in the mirror, she gasped as she realised her entire bare arms, exposed by her tank top were also dirty. Smears of mud and dust, oil and hand marks streaked them. She stared at them incredulously. Stripping off her top, she reached into the shower to turn the water on, casting her mind to the kitchen, wondering if she had somehow pulled coffee grounds down on her, or rolled on the floor, and had no memory of it. She chewed her lip pensively as she stuck her arm into the spray of water to check the temperature. It was warming up, and as she pulled back, she instinctively dried her arm on the towel hanging by the shower stall.

She stared at it. Blinked, and stared at it again. It was clean. Completely unmarked. She raised her other arm and stared at it's creamy cleanness.

Shaking her head, she turned off the shower, and left the bathroom, pulling her top back on. Putting it down to the weirdness of this day, every year, she determined to go to sleep, and put all other things out her mind.

In her room, she slid between the cool, crisp sheets, and reached for her phone on the bedside table.

No messages.

She stared a moment more, contemplated texting him. She wanted to, wanted that contact, his rudimentary, and usually terse texts, a methods of communication he did not care for.

But, she reasoned, putting her phone down, he might still be with Miles, might be busy. She shut off the light, and looked up at the ceiling. For the slightest moment, she felt sure that she could see the stars, blinking at her in complete darkness, as though she were sleeping outside. In the next instant, they were gone, and her white ceiling remained grey, patterned by the shadows of the trees moving around the streetlight outside.

* * *

"_My place is just around the corner… come on" the guy, Brad, she thought his name was, but couldn't quite recall right now, urged, as he slip a clammy hand around her upper arm. She let herself be pulled forward a couple steps, then stopped. Her face felt hot, and her heart was beating erratically. She took a deep breath. Backing away from 'Brad' she turned and dashed toward the bathroom. _

_Inside the stalls were small and cramped, and smelled as well as you'd imagine at 5 am. The greasy tiles were littered with toilet paper and cigarette butts, but she had hardly time to care as she fell to her knees in front of the toilet. She vomited again and again, over and over, tears squeezing out her eyes, running down her face, as her stomach clenched painfully, already empty, yet she continued to retch. Collapsing back, she leaned against the flimsy wall, feeling it dent behind her weight, as she rested her forehead on her knees for a long moment. Her mouth tasted awful, her eyes were swollen, and her head pounded. She opened her eyes, feeling pain lance through her as they struggled to focus. _

_She sighed, struggling to her feet, grimacing as she touched the disgusting toilet floor, she made her way to the mirror. She braced herself on the blocked sink, and braved the mirror, her reflection a shock. _

_Her hair fell in greasy tangles down her back. Her skin was shiny, she looked feverish, and her face, hollowed out cheekbones, sunken eyes, dull and lifeless, were almost unrecognisable._

_Who was this person? She asked herself as she put the cold tap on, and splashed a little cold water in her mouth, spitting it out a few times. She dragged her heavy hair to the side and put her cool hands on her burning cheeks, taking a deep breath. _

_4 weeks and 2 days. It had been 4 weeks and 2 days since her father had died, and she had forgotten how she was supposed to act. _

_She hadn't been home in a few days, she couldn't take her mother, pretending to be over Ben's death already, turning to work and other 'productive' things. Charlie couldn't do, couldn't shut her emotions off so ruthlessly. _

"_Erm… are you ok?" a male voice called, and she sighed. Great, what had she got herself into with this random. She had lost the tiniest bit of interest she'd had in the thought of taking some faceless stranger home. _

_She went to the door, and opened it. The loud music was a slap to the face, as well as the heat of the room, crowding her immediately. _

"_Oh, there you are… I was worried.. so shall we go?" he asked, and fell into step beside her. She walked over to the bar, and grabbed her jacket off the stool._

"_I don't think I'm in the mood anymore… sorry" she mumbled as she held onto the edge of the stool for balance. She saw his expression go from hopeful to pissed in one second flat. Great, she thought, another winner. _

"_Well, what the fuck? You can't just change your mind… just like that" the guy was complaining, and she turned away from him, closing her eyes, trying to shut his irritating voice out of her head, as it only contributed to her headache, which was shaping up to be epic. _

"_Of course she can. Now beat it, before you not able to" came a gruff voice from her shoulder, and she opened her eyes, to see not other than 'Uncle' Bass standing behind her, arms crossed, looking majorly pissed off in the mirror behind the bar. The college guy took one look at Sebastian Monroe in a bad mood, and turned and walked away, double time. She sank shakily down onto the wooden stool, and rested her aching head in her hands. _

_Great, could the embarrassment get worse, she wondered, before realising that she didn't actually feel all that bad about it. In fact, she didn't feel very much of anything, except the beginning of a mean hangover. _

"_Well, Charlotte. I'm glad to see you are handling this like an adult." He was muttering as she slid into the seat beside her, asking the barman for a glass of water. _

"_Drink this" he instructed, sliding it across the countertop under her face. She capitulate, mainly because her mouth was sawdust, and she could barely swallow. _

"_Not too fast" he rebuked as she finished it in a couple of gulps. Closing her eyes as the cold water hit her stomach, she spoke softly. _

"_Why are you here?"_

"_It's my local"_

"_Really?"_

"_Not, of course not really… I was looking for you. Your mom called Miles. And, if it's possible, he's in worse shape than you are right now" _

"_So, how did you find me here?"_

"_Well, there aren't that many places near your apartment… it didn't take long" he was saying reasonably, and she couldn't help a hysterical little laugh from coming._

"_What?" he asked, irritated. _

"_Nothing… just… Captain, Lieutenant…whatever… Monroe, out searching college bars on a Saturday night…" she glanced sideways at him, further amused to see his stiff carriage, the uncomfortable way he was sitting, military even now. _

"_Come on. We are leaving" he muttered, standing up and grabbing her by the upper arm. _

"_Hey" she protested mildly as he pulled her arms through the sleeves of her jacket and wrapped her scarf around her face until everything was covered but her eyes. He then took her hand and pulled her out the bar. Outside, the traffic noises babbled by them, and the music faded as the glass door of the bar swung slowly shut. She took a deep breath, and felt the cold air soothe her raw chest. He had already started walking, in the direction of her apartment. _

_She trailed after him slowly, until he stopped impatiently, waiting for her to catch up, his foot tapping. _

"_If you have to go.. don't let me stop you" she bit out, strangely irritated by his obvious desire to get the hell away. He waited until she caught up, and then, his clamp like grip came down on her wrist again, and they were moving, much fast now. He didn't answer, and soon they were almost at her apartment. The streets were quiet now, there was the sound of delivery trucks unloading wares at storefronts on the way, and the street cleaner rumbled along behind them. As her door came into sight, she stopped, jerking her arm from his. He stopped, and turned to face her with an exasperated look. _

"_What is it now? Let's go, we're almost there…" he said, reaching for her arm again. _

"_No – you go… go and do whatever you need to. I'm fine on my own, just leave me alone, you've done your good deed for today, alright?" she folded her arms across her chest and turned away from him, making to cross the road. _

_She had no idea where she was going, all that mattered in her hungover/half-drunk state was getting away from him, so that she could crawl home alone and salvage some semblance of dignity. _

"_Charlie, where do you think you're going… I'm taking you home" he said firmly, grabbing her shoulder, his strong grip stopping her in her tracks._

"_No, you aren't" she ground out, glaring up at him. Everything about him was irritating the hell out of her. His presumption, his condescension. There might be a tiny part of her that realised that he wasn't the real problem, yet there was no way she was listening to that reasonable voice right then. _

_She deliberately ripped her shoulder out of his hand, and stared him down. Challenged him to disagree with her, to fight with her. He looked at her, his face more understanding than she could take. _

"_Don't look at me like that" she spat before she spun around, and started to walk away. The next instant, she found the world turning upside down, as her midsection was suddenly slung over his shoulders, her legs clasped firmly in his grip, leaving her handing over his shoulder._

"_Hey!" she cried, grunting with the effort of speaking when her chest was so compressed. _

"_You've left me no choice, so just shut it, and give me your keys" he said, carrying her toward her front door. _

"_No way… put me down, or –" _

"_Fine, but, just remember, I did ask" he asked, almost a grin to his voice, and she felt her face flash red as his hand dug into her back pocket, feeling around for the key. She tried to kick him with her legs, but found it totally ineffectual, and settled for pounding his back with her hands, as hard as she could. _

"_You're such an asshole" she grunted, as her hands started to feel numb the pain of hitting his unrelenting back. _

"_Put me down right now – or I swear, I will scream so loud –" she threatened, and fell silent, her mouth stretched in wordless outrage as he delivered a stinging blow to her backside._

"_Pipe down… geez…" he grumbled as he opened her door, and jogged up the stairs, her still slung over his shoulder. _

"_Evening" she heard him say, presumably to someone they were passing in the hall, and she closed her eyes in mortification._

_He reached her door, and opened it. Striding into the small space. He carried her along the dark hall, kicking door shut behind him. Being back in her apartment, spurred her fight again, and she started wriggling as hard as she could. One of her kicks escaped his hands, and connected with his face, and she braced herself as heard him swear, and the world to shift back to normal. As soon as her feet touched the ground, she turned her fury on him. _

"_Jesus Charlie, you've given me a shiner-" he was saying as she straightened up, and her hand was already moving, already connecting with his jaw. The hard slap echoed in the empty apartment, and his head turned with it, his mouth round with shock. As he slowly turned his face back, she felt her anger rise up, a well of rage, just simmering below the surface, now, irrepressible. She raised her hand to hit him again, and he moved back, her hand flailing into the air between them. She gave up trying to touch his face, and pounded his chest. This time making contact. She hit him again, he didn't sway at all. In fact, he stepped closer. She raised her fist again, thumping it hard into chest, as hard as she could anyway. He didn't flinch, instead, his look became only more fixed, taking on a determined quality. _

"_Give it to me Charlie.. everything you got… I can take it" he said softly. _

_She hit again, and pushed him, and spoke words that she couldn't remember, cried tears she couldn't track... swore and cursed in every way she knew and wasn't even aware off. She snarled and spit, she cried hot torrents, dripping down her face._

_She didn't know how long passed, in that close hallway, in the dark, all she knew was that at some point, her strength failed, and she was only crying, her legs wouldn't support her anymore, and she was sinking to the floor, and turning in on herself. She heard the ugly, harsh sobs coming from her throat, from afar. They were almost inhuman, a wail, a dirge. The undiluted sound of human suffering. _

_Behind her eyes, there was such darkness, such silence, that she longed to break it, longed to feel someone next to her, someone to stand against that pressing weight of endless night, that had taken residence in her soul. _

_She barely registered as he pulled her gently upright, took her into the bathroom, and turned the shower on. As he knelt by her feet, as she held onto the towel rail, sobs erupting from her, loud snorts and hiccups, her eyes and nose dripping onto him as he unlaced her boots and slid down her socks. _

_Rising before her, he had pulled her arms from her coat, unwound the scarf, and stroked her hair back. Next he had moved to her jeans. The tight material clinging to her, cutting into her, marking her. He had undone her belt as she had doubled over the bath, waves of sickness passing over her, as grief literally made her sick to her stomach. Stripping off her jeans, he had then pulled the shower door open, and lifted her in. The water had been so warm, so comforting, washing her face of the tears and snot and mascara, the traces of her vomit. Her tears joined in the flow. The water flowed over her shirt, and her over her whole body as she clasped her arms around her knees, hugging them to her, pooling in the shallows of her body, glancing off Bass's arms, as he had placed her there, splashing over him, wetting his shirt and jeans, catching in his hair. _

_The next morning, when she had woken, she had sat up slowly, looking around her little apartment, seeing it with clear eyes, for the first time in months. She glanced to the side, and saw Bass, sleeping, still in his jacket, on top of the covers, his mouth slightly open, his face surprisingly innocent in his dreams. The curtains had been left open, and she had risen, carefully, not disturbing him. She had walked over to the window, and in shock, found herself standing a patch of sun. She had watched the light move over her bare legs and arms, and felt as though the sun had finally come up, the endless night had passed, the eclipse finally over. _

"_Charlie?" his voice, throaty in the morning, his eyes flickering over to her, his hand rasping over his stubbled jaw. _

'_How are you?" he'd asked, his blue eyes staring directly into hers, in a way that spoke of the connection they'd forged, a gaze that was impossible to evade or fool._

"_I'm ok… I think. I think I'm going to be OK" she had said, walking over to him, her bare feel cool against the polished floorboards. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, tilting her head to look at him. He'd stared right back, until the clock beside him, her alarm clock had began to chirp. Shutting it off, he had sat up, swinging his jean clad legs to the floor, and making to stand. _

"_I better go – leave you alone." He'd murmured, smiling a little at her, his blue eyes warm._

"_Actually… I wish you'd stay a while. I'll make breakfast" she'd offered, with a small grin, the first real one in weeks. He had considered it a moment, before nodding. _

"_Well alright, then."_

* * *

Miles and Rachel were upstairs, arguing by the sound of it. Bass watched Aaron Pitman, as he called himself pacing the living room, muttering away to himself.

"Hey, can I ask you something… about… the other place?" Bass called suddenly, surprising the distraught man into stillness. After a moment, Aaron nodded.

"Rachel said you know Charlie too…" Bass said, his tone casual, too casual. Aaron nodded distractedly.

"Yeah, I lived with her and Danny… watched them grow up – until your men came to town, killed her father and took off with her brother" Bass froze at those words, cold creeping over him as he struggled to remind himself that this guy was nuts, and nothing he said mattered.

"Say what?" he asked, his tone not half as light as he hoped. The man stopped pacing a moment, and focused on him.

"You were behind her father being shot… and her brother's death, with those goddamn helicopters…"

"Helicopters? I thought you said there was no electricity in your supposed 'real world'" Bass accused, turning from the man to stare back out the window.

"There isn't, it's well, it's complicated." Aaron said, and Bass found himself striding across the room, and taking the man by the lapels of his jacket, his voice low.

"Why don't you explain it to me then, stay-puffed… because it isn't making much sense right now" he warned, and saw the man's eyes go round.

"That's the General Monroe I know… wait! Did you just call me Stay-puffed?"

"No – I don't know… why?"

"Because… you must be remembering" Aaron was saying, his voice rising as he raised his own hands to grip his shirt.

"You have to remember – you remember me – you remember" he was shouting in his face.

"Get off me, what the hell?" Bass said, stepping away. His felt strange, his mind running to fast, his thoughts leaping ahead, confused, losing a grip on the present.

Aaron had moved to the front window, and was staring outside, his face turning whiter and whiter by the second.

"Oh my god.. it's not possible… he'd dead." He was saying when Bass pushed him out the way and peered out. There were military assembling in the front yard, he saw to his alarm, lead by a little guy in a suit, who was staring at the house with grim determination.

"Who the hell are you? And what have you gotten us all into?" he asked, his tone turned harsh as he turned to Aaron, hearing Rachel and Miles coming downstairs.

"What's going on outside, who are those guys?" Rachel was asking.

"They are here for me… for us, I guess. They want me to fix the code…"

"So – fix it" Miles said, and Aaron let out a strangled laugh.

"If you were you, you wouldn't say that" he said, pacing agitatedly. He abruptly turned to Bass and Miles pointing at them accusingly.

"You guys can't let them take me – you have to stop them… do your thing, and stop them" he said, his eyes wild.

"What thing? What are you talking about?" Bass shouted back, as they heard the sound of pounding on the front door.

"Please- I'm begging you… help me" Aaron pleaded, as the door splintered inward and Rachel screamed. The room was filling with these army guys, but their uniforms weren't any he'd seen before. Aaron was trying to run away, and was being herded into the centre of the room.

"Danny!" Rachel was crying, attempting to run up the stairs.

"You're coming with us, Mr Pittman" the little man in charge was saying, as the soldiers managed to put handcuffs on the him.

"I won't help you – I'm not fixing the code" he gasped, getting pulled along with them toward the door.

"Of course you aren't, not without the proper persuasion. That's why we are bringing your friends along." He said, and signalled the rest of the men in the room, who started to converge on Bass and Miles.

Aaron locked eyes with him, for a moment, as he shouted.

"If they are taking you, they'll be taking Charlie too! Help us… fight this…" he grunted, disappearing out the door.

His words settled like stone in his stomach, as he watched, almost in half speed the men in buzz cuts approaching him, their guns raised. He suddenly felt a weight his hand, where before there had been nothing. He looked down, and was surprised to find a sword, heavy and thick, with a serrated edge, more like a machete than sword. He looked up, locked eyes with Miles, and nodded.

* * *

Charlie wasn't sure what woke her exactly, as when her eyes snapped open, she found herself already holding her breath. There was only silence, and she lay there, still and silent, listening. She strained to hear anything out of the ordinary. Her heart beat quickly, and yet, the sensation felt familiar.

She heard it then, the quiet scrapping of metal against metal.

The quiet sound of someone entering her apartment.

Someone without a key


	5. Don't You Know You Can't Go Home Again?

"_Come on, Charlie… leave your phone and come and dance… it's spring break" her friend laughed, pushing another plastic cup of sickly sweet alcohol at her. She smiled meekly back and took it, the hard plastic sticky under her fingertips. Marcia, or was it Maria, giggled and took her hand, pulling her over to the bar._

"_I just met the cutest guys… two of them… one each" she slurred. Charlie braced herself to meet the hopeful looking guys hovering by the tiki beach bar, in the typical frat boy on spring break uniform of short, thongs and t-shirts. _

"_This is the friend I was talking about" Let's call her Maria, shouted loudly. Charlie managed a smile, and took a sip of her drink, letting her eyes roam over the bar as clumsy introductions were made, screamed over the deafening music. She glanced at her phone one more time. Nothing. She sighed internally. It was stupid, she knew it. All he had done was mention being sent down here, on some kind of training exercise, except nowadays he delivered the training. Griped about the heat, the humidity, as all she had heard was the phrase 'three months' repeating again and again in her head. And so, after the worse month she could remember, she had taken it as a sign when one of her new friends, her attempt to create a more normal world, had invited her along with her on Spring Break to Miami. _

_Now, she was wearing a bikini top and shorts, her entire body felt sticky with sweat, her own and other peoples, and alcohol, and she was being hit on by the same kind of jock that hit on her all the time at home. She heard her name being repeated, and turned back to the conversation. _

"_Sorry, what?" she asked. _

"_Charlie, was it?" the guy asked and she nodded, pasting a pleasant smile on her face. _

_If she had to sum up her Spring Break experience, it would be crowded clubs, ear-wrenching music, disgusting drinks…. And the absence of him. _

_Really… all she would remember was the latter. That evening, her last in Florida, as she had watched Maria go off to another club with the guys they had met, worrying a moment over it, before seeing other females join the in the taxi, she and realised she had really gotten herself in trouble with Sebastian Monroe. _

_He had become too important to her. _

_She depended on him too much. Needed him. Craved him. He hadn't given her any sign that he could feel the same way about her. He hadn't indicated in any way, that she was anything more than his best friend's niece. She had been so busy trying to mend her heart, after her father's death, she had left it unguarded, and he had swept right it, and claimed it, without even his own knowledge. _

_Where she might have had a crush, she now had something altogether more frightening. Hell, she had come all the way down to Florida, hoping for a chance to see him. _

_She had walked back to the hotel, the thick heat a layer over her skin, her heat sticking to her neck. Stopping in a store, she bought a bottle of water, and rolled the cool bar across the back of her neck and chest as she climbed the stairs of the cheap motel she and half her college were staying in. _

_And then, just like that, without warning, or indication, he was there. _

_Sitting at the cheap patio table and chairs arranged on the balcony outside her room, looking down into the pool, and the students who were still playing around it. His plain T-shirt, so white against his skin, his blue hoodie, left open a tired look around his eyes. He had looked up, when she reached the top of the stairs, his fingers playing with his cell phone on the scratched table top. His blue gaze had met hers, igniting them both, and she couldn't help the smile that tumbled from her lips. He had stood slowly, as she approached, his eyes not straying from her face, and she knew what it felt like to occupy someone's attention, so completely. She stopped in front of him, a question poised on her lips. _

"_You got my message…" she stated, glancing down at his phone. He nodded. _

"_When do you leave?" he asked, his voice so welcome after such a long silence. _

"_Tomorrow morning" she said with a shrug as he raised his eyebrow at her. _

"_That's not long to play tour guide" he said with a laugh as he picked his jacket off the chair and swung it on. She felt her heart in her mouth at that moment, her skin prickling with nerves, yet, it was now or never, she had told herself, leaning closer to him and placing her hand on his arm, bringing his face to her, looking down, waiting. _

"_Maybe I don't want you to play tour guide…" she'd said, happy with how sure and confident her voice had sounded, how casual and independent. It was important. Important that he didn't know how long she had been waiting to say it. He narrowed his eyes at her, his gaze searching, and his face so close, that for a moment, she imagined reaching up and tugging it to meet hers. _

_But, then he was stepping away from the table, walking toward the stairs, with his hands in his pockets. _

"_You coming?" he'd asked, starting down the stairs, his loose-limbed amble making her feel clumsy and studied as she followed him. _

_They had walked silently through the warm, Floridian night. Sided by side, her hand brushing against his occasionally, the contact sending a rush of nerves to gather in her stomach._

_Walking down to the beach, they had sat on the sand, looking out at the dark sea, waves lapping the shore. Kids on Spring Break laughed as they ran past them, drunk and stupid, and Charlie watched them, feeling completely content for the first time in the trip. _

"_You should be with your friends" Bass said, suddenly breaking the silence. _

"_Not really my scene" she remarked. He looked over at her, his hoodie, offered in a desperate attempt to help him keep his hands to himself, was pushed up at her elbows, the green string of her bikini was tangled in the sandy waves that carelessly fell across her shoulders. She was utterly captivating, and barely even knew it. _

"_How are you doing…?" he asked, after a pause, pregnant with context. She nodded a little, clasping her hands in front of her. _

"_Better" she said, and he was relieved, worrying about her, especially being too far away to do anything about it, had started to feel like a full time job. _

"_Don't you miss home?" she asked, leaning back on her elbows._

"_Sometimes. But I've been further from home before… for longer" he reminded her, mimicking her movements. _

"_You shaved" she remarked, breaking their companionable silence, casting a sideways glance at him. _

"_Yep, kind of had to…" he said, running a hand self-consciously over his naked jaw. She had gotten used to seeing him with stubble, deliciously scruffed, and sometimes even bearded. This was new. _

"_You look younger" she said, and instantly regretted it, biting her lip to stop talking. He abruptly stopped walking, and she turned expectantly to see him standing, his head down in contemplation, hands in pockets._

"_But… I'm not any younger Charlie…" he had said, his voice grave. This was it, she realised. They were going to address what had been building between them. She swallowed nervously, as she looked at him, took in his discomfort. _

_He looked so uncertain, and it twisted something inside her, it hurt. _

_She took a deep breath, and leant across to him, the hollow inside of her propelling her, pushing her forward, for to just lie there and see that expression on his face, was too much to bear. _

_She put her hand on his cheek, and before she could think about what a bad idea it was, touched her lips to his. _

_He froze under her soft, hesitant touch, she couldn't even feel his breath, as she moved her lips against his. A long moment passed, a long moment when she was there, waiting for him to meet her, to take what she was offering, not to crush her open heart. She felt his fingertips ghost over her shoulders, a gentle caress up, leaving goose bumps in their wake, and almost relaxed. _

_Almost._

_As the next thing she felt was his fingers, gently, but firmly, settling on her shoulders and pushing her back a little, as he also backed up. Her lips lost contact with hers, and it felt like a slap. She stared at him, fighting the urge to hide her face, her embarrassment worn like bright flags on her cheeks, for him to see. She met his blue eyes straight on. The look in them was almost more than she could bear. _

_Pity. Sympathy. Compassion._

_She swallowed them down, those unwanted sentiments, and tossed her hair back over her shoulder, schooled her expression into a lopsided smile. _

"_Hmmm, a bit of a disappointment… seriously, Bass, I thought you were a ladies man…" she teased, the words brittle on her lips. He studied her a moment longer, before letting his pensive expression melt into a grin. _

"_Yeah, well…never believe the advertising" he said, sticking his hands back in his pockets, seeming to relax. He looked so goddamn relieved, her hands itched for a moment to slap him, and then, she realised, she simply couldn't stand there and see it. And, she didn't have to, she recalled with relief. _

"_Well, it was good to see you, Monroe" She said, starting to slide off the hoodie that he had lent her. He held up a hand to stop her. _

"_Keep it. You have to go?" he asked, and she didn't care to examine his careful tone as she started to stand up and back away, nodding. _

"_Yeah, early start tomorrow… you know." She said._

"_Well, at least me walk you home" he said, starting after her. She held up a hand, mimicking his earlier movement._

"_No need." She turned and started to walk away, her red cheeks threatening to set her face on fire. Her eyes were stinging she realised with horror. She hadn't thought she had anymore tears left at this point, yet there they were. _

"_Charlotte!" he called behind her, and she stopped, glancing back over her shoulder. The sight of him standing there, his casual pose, the way he stood, his expression, while his blue eyes swept over her. _

"_See you soon?" he called into the silence that had fallen between them. She held his gaze a moment longer, before smiling nonchalantly, and giving him a shrug. _

"_I suppose so" she said with a laugh so forced it actually cost her. He tilted his head to the side, his look so searching, she had to look away. _

_She started to walk, feeling as though an invisible thread was reaching back and pulling her in the opposite direction. As though a magnet were at work, and every step she took hurt a little bit more. She made it to a corner, and turned it. She didn't look back._

* * *

She jumped catlike out of bed, and crossed the room noiselessly. Standing behind the door, she looked around for a weapon of some kind. The door slowly stared to open, and she froze. It creaked open an inch, two, and then she saw the black, shiny tip of a long gun of some kind poke through the opening. The door was pushed wider, and there were people moving into her room. Men, two of them, in uniforms. She was so confused for a moment, she thought maybe they were here for Bass, but he wasn't here. Then they started toward her bed. Without another thought, she slipped into the dark hallway behind them, and started to quietly inch along, her back against the wall, her mind reconstructing the hallway in the way she remembered it.

The question was whether to go for the door, and run for it, or go to the kitchen and get a weapon. Without realising it, she was moving toward the kitchen.

She heard the men start to look about in her room, her wardrobe flying open, and her bed overturning. She finally reached the kitchen, and, her heart in her mouth, ran to her knife drawer, pulling out a wicked looking knife, and instinctively trying to stick it in her belt, when she realised her soft, floppy pyjama bottom probably wouldn't hold it. Instead she kept it in her hand, and with her other hand, groped for the meagre tool kit she had assembled over time in her own place. Her hand closed on the hammer, and she pulled it out, and hefted it in her hand, appreciating its weight.

Next, she moved into a hidden position and waited. It was strange, she expected to feel more afraid, yet, there was adrenaline pumping through her veins, and she was ready.

They came into the kitchen, one closer than the other, they didn't speak, were strangely silent as they looked around the small space, and one of the turned away to check the bathroom. The other man passed over her hiding place, and turned away from her.

Before she could register her movements, she was up, moving behind him, and the hammer was swinging toward his skill, as the knife reached for his throat. He felt heavily, and she was just about to duck back into hiding when the other man appeared along the corridor, the shiny black nose of his gun pointing right at her.

"Drop the knife… step back" he barked, and she stared at him, weighing her options.

"Now" he warned, cocking his gun. She raised her hands, letting the weapons drop to the floor, prepared herself as he came toward her. When he was only a meter away, she almost screamed in shock as she saw a jagged red hole appear in the centre of his chest, with a slither of metal protruding through it. It slid out, and he fell to the floor.

Bass was looking at her with such relief, his face splattered with blood, his clothes dishevelled. Before he could speak, she shot forward, throwing herself into his arms.

"Oh my god – who are those guys? What's happening?" she breathed as she leaned back.

"Are you alright?" he asked roughly, his eyes running over her, checking for hurts. He caught her hands, which was streaked with blood, looking at it worriedly.

"It's not mine" she reassured him, casting a glance behind her at the first guy she'd taken down. His lips quirked in a grin, and he shook his head slightly.

"Charlie Matheson… you are a force to be reckoned with… wherever you are" he muttered, and then heard a sound from the street. He ran to the window, sticking the long machete he was carrying into his belt, and grabbing up one of the rifles off the floor. He kicked the other one toward her and looked at the street.

"We have to get out of here. Get dressed" he ordered, turning to see her pushing the gun away from her with her toe.

"What are you doing… pick it up, arm yourself" he commanded, and she frowned at him.

"What the hell is going on? Why are you here anyway? Who are these guys, and why are they trying to hurt us.. also… I'm pretty sure you just killed someone" looking in alarm at the body lying by her feet he swooped toward her and cupped her shoulders, leaning down to look into her eyes.

"Charlie… I know… none of this makes sense right now… but you have to trust me… do you trust me?" he asked, and her head immediately nodded, her blue eyes looking up into his, open and honest, eyes full of emotion and feeling.

"Of course I do… I just don't understand" she whispered, and shocked him into silence as she leaned into him, and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her face against his chest, seeking comfort from him. He slowly brought his arms around to frame her, gently as though he was trying not to frighten a scared animal.

"We have to move… now Charlie" he reminded her, leaning away and pushing her toward the hall. Together they went to her room, and Bass checked the windows as Charlie rummaged in the clothes littering the floor.

"So – who are they?" she asked, bringing his face turning toward her, just as she stripped her t-shirt off. Spinning away, he became overly interested in checking the firearm.

"I – I can't explain it right now, we just have to get out of here, as fast as possible" he muttered. She walked past him, tugging her jeans on, buttoning them, and searching for shoes. Finally she was ready, and they were moving, her waiting behind him, as he checked out the hall before starting down it.

She was just behind him, and he kept glancing over his shoulder to check on her. They made it to the stairwell, as Monroe signalled her to be quiet, listening intently before they started down it. Reaching the bottom, he slowly opened the door an inch, before moving out, ushering her behind him. They moved down the dark street, keeping to the wall, and she could practically feel the stress coming off him.

She ran along behind him, her legs feeling stronger with every step. When had she felt this alert before? She couldn't remember, but the adrenaline was racing through her veins, and she was trembling with it. He suddenly stopped, and she crashed into the back of him, her hands instinctively settling on his hips, as she peeked around his shoulder to see.

"We need to get to the Pitman building" he muttered, straining to look around the street.

"Why?" she asked, and suddenly felt his hands crush hers in a hard grip, before he was running, pulling her along behind him. They ran, in unison, always in sync, and she felt the strangest sense of deja-vu. Up ahead they saw they entrance to the subway, and Monroe went toward it. They clattered down the stairs, and he jumped the railing, she followed suit.

In the dead of night, it was quiet, only a few trains running, and they started along the platform, looking for an opportune place to hid. An alcove appeared, and Charlie, spying it, grabbed Bass's hand and pulled him into it, pushing herself into his arms, her face only inches from his, if she craned her neck, making them invisible on the empty platform.

"Ok, you need to tell me what's going on" she said, catching her breath, securing her fingers in his belt loops, and leaning back in his embrace. He felt stiff under her hands, and she looked up at him, sensing his nervousness, and worry. He was staring down at her with the strangest expression, indecipherable almost. A combination of curiosity and desire.

"What?" she whispered, as his silence dragged on. He seemed to collect himself, and blinked a few times.

"Nothing. I'm not sure who they are… patriots, I guess…" he started, and then winced, trailing off into silence as she frowned at him.

"Patriots? What do you mean?" she asked. He let out a long breath.

"What do you remember Charlie… about, your life… this… city…. Me?" he asked, pinning her down with an arresting look.

"What are you talking about… you're not making any sense" she said, and felt frustration start to creep into her tone.

"What are you hiding from me?" she demanded, feeling his reticence almost like a shield he was holding in front of him. He shifted uncomfortably, his body pressing against hers, his eyes seemed to be looking everywhere but at her. She raised her hands, and gently took his cheeks between her palms.

It was a sacred movement between them, one that she used in the nights where nightmares chased him from his dreams. Where those he had lost, and there had been many, returned to haunt him, and the places he had been, and the things he had done wouldn't let him rest. They were becoming fewer, something he attributed to her, yet, they were there, and he would carry them always.

"Bass…. Sebastian" she called him softly, cradling his stubble lined jaw between her hands, drawing him to her, pulling his eyes to her, focusing him, finding him. His gaze finally met hers, and it looked right into her. That curiosity remained, and something else, fear… and worry, there was definitely worry.

"What's wrong…" she urged. His silence spoke to her, told her that he was still too far to reach. Standing up to her full height, she brought her lips to his, pressed them against the corner of his full mouth, pressing light kisses into his skin.

"Tell me" she urged further, finally feeling his hands come to her waist, warm and familiar, drawing her closer. He moved his face away, and she felt him press a kiss to her forehead.

"Charlie… stop… we can't do this right now."

"We aren't doing anything…" she murmured back, reaching for his mouth with hers. He avoided her kiss, and instead, dropped one on the top of her head. Charlie couldn't stop a laugh.

"Stop kissing me like you're my grandfather. Kiss me like you're the man I love" she teased, leaning back to look at him, the smile slowly dropping from her lips as she saw his face. It was pained, it was surprised, and disbelieving.

"You love me" he stated, his voice low and throaty, and she wondered what had gotten in to him.

"So? You love me too" she laughed, trying to draw him from this strange place he seemed to be in. He looked at her a moment longer, an intense moment and slowly nodded.

"Yeah. I do." He admitted, and the way he said it, was almost as though he were surprised to hear the words.

"Are you going to tell me who those guys are –" she started to say, and was cut off, when his mouth came down on hers, Hard. His hands, which had been idling at her hips, now rose to her waist, so strong they were already almost lifting her from the floor. He kissed her hard, and fast, with intensity she hadn't felt in a while. He kissed her with a kind of desperate determination that demanded she respond. His hands ran up her sides, tangled in her hair, caressed her cheeks, and flattened across her stomach. They were everywhere, as his lips burned into hers and his tongue sent fire dancing across her nerves. He clutched her against his, bent her with him, pushed her against the wall and ground his body against hers. He was lighting fires in places that they had no time to pursue, and yet, there was no way to stop, no way to drag herself from the drug that was Sebastian Monroe – her uncle's best friend, then her best friend, and her lover, and then her everything.

When he finally broke the kiss, she felt as though she was breaking through the surface of water, so long and deep had she been submerged in him, and she clung to his shoulder and gasped for breath. He too, was breathing hard, and he pulled her into a hug, tight against his chest, his lips in her hair as he spoke raggedly.

"You're never going to forgive me for that… but it was worth it" he muttered. She placed her head against his chest, pressed her ear to his heart and she could feel it beating wildly.

"Bass… what's going on?" she asked softly, her voice muffled.

"What is going on… is a major mind trip, and right now… I've not quite sure if you're really here, or if I am… or if we will remember any of this come morning." He said, finally looking down at her.

"But I want to… god help me Charlie… I want to remember this, remember you, like this. I want our memories…" he was saying, when a noise from the platform startled them.

"Is it them?" Charlie asked, stepping out to see, just as a figure in kaki appeared further down.

"Get down!" Bass shouted, and his voice was the last thing she heard, as the gunshot echoed along the cavernous tunnel, rebounding again and again.

She didn't feel it. Not really. His voice was the thing she felt, the thing she remembered as she sank to her knees, the life already seeping from her body, as the blood trickled down her forehead. If she had lived longer, she might have regretted not feeling his arms catch her, or the way he held her so close, so gently. She might have missed hearing him whisper her name, over and over, and feeling a tear fall on her face, even as he stood to defend himself, his black anger laying waste to his opponents, before he returned to her side, and sat with her body long into the night.

* * *

The world came back slowly, in pieces, fragments of predawn light filtering across her face, dancing over her eyelids, making shadow puppets of her dissolving dreams. She lay still a moment longer, a long moment, one in which, you can't quite tell the dream from reality. She registered the hard ground under her back, the creak of her hard leather jacket in the elbows, the feel of the wooden handle of her knife, still tucked into her palm.

Slowly she opened her eyes, which felt as thought they were weighted down by rocks, and seasoned with salt. Her mouth felt dry, and her entire body ached. Slowly, she pushed herself up on her elbows, and surveyed their camp. The fire was out, and huddled bodies surrounded it. She saw the humped blanket that was Conner, still sound asleep. One of the mercenaries was filling his canteen from the water bucket, his stoic expression already in place. She stretched her neck from side to side, trying to work out the kinks.

She felt funny, as though she was forgetting something. Something important. Something she couldn't quite place her finger on. She had the vague impression of running in her dreams, which was hardly surprising, running, and fighting. Yet, there was something more. Aaron's face popped into her mind, and she blinked at it. Aaron, she hadn't thought about him in a couple of days, with all the madness of New Vegas going on. She wondered briefly where he was, and if he was alright. In her dream, he had been wearing a suit. She almost giggled at the thought, considering the most dressy she had ever seen Aaron, was in a plaid button down over jeans and sneakers.

She pushed herself up a little more, sitting up, and raised her arms over her head, stretching from side to side. She had the sudden image of her mother, unbidden in her mind. She wore a little black dress, something entirely unRachel, and she was bustling about with shiny packages that smelled of food. What a trippy dream, she thought as she shook her blanket off, and stood up slowly. The grass was wet with dew, and she saw the others start to stir as she stepped over them, heading for water.

She had barely taken a mouthful of the cool liquid, before, she choked.

Danny.

Alive, and breathing, smiling at her, actually. Sitting upright in a blue bedroom, in a blue bed, with glasses perched on his nose. She coughed the water up, her mind starting to spin as images assaulted her. Danny showing her a new game, a virtual one, and her actually understanding it. A house , her house, with a million lights ablaze. Lights and clocks, televisions and music, even electronic cookers. She dropped the cup back into the water bucket, and turned from camp, waving off the mercenary closest to her as he watched her, making to come with her. She just wanted to be alone. She wandered through the trees, unseeing. What kind of messed up dream had her overtired mind come up with last night? She asked herself wildly, stepping over fallen tree trunks, and headed toward the lake she had filled their water canteens at the night before. The early morning light was already starting to shimmer across it's surface as she reached it. The morning was very still, punctuated by soft bird calls, and the gentle rustling of wind through the trees.

She walked down the short, dark sandy shore, and sat abruptly on an old log lying by the waters edge. She had a deep sense of foreboding, a heavy feeling of dread starting to gather in the pit of her stomach. She dropped her head into her hands, and took deep breaths, hoping it would pass.

Images from the dream kept coming, in waves, and she could barely stand it. It was as if she had lived a lifetimes worth in a few short hours, and her mind was barely able to process it. The nervousness was growing, and the feeling of dread building, as she shied away from what her very own mind had presented her with, when the first memory of him hit her.

Monroe, standing in a black suit, flowers in hand. Monroe in Florida, under the sweet jasmine night, taking her hand in his, helping her over fallen driftwood on the quiet beach.

Monroe standing still, in a dark and close hallway, letting her beat him with her fists.

"_Give it to me Charlie, everything you got…. I can take it"_

Monroe in her bed, his stubble scratching her shoulder, and his mouth humming as he placed feather light kisses along her collarbone, his mouth curving in a smile against her neck as her hands slid through his curls and tugged him closer. Her face flushed red as the memories washed over her. Her body clenched in memory of touching him, being under him, and over him and everywhere in between.

Worse than the memories of physical intimacy in the dream, were the feelings. Monroe being the man she could turn to after her father's death. Monroe being the man who reminded her that there were reasons to live. Monroe, broken and lost in his own way, seeing the part of her that needed to be loved, protected and cherishing it. She was mortified. What the hell? She scolded herself. What kind of wet dream, emotional and physical had her subconscious been conjuring.

A snap, a twig underfoot, the rustle of long grass, and just like that, she knew he was here.

With an inevitable lure, she felt her head start to turn, drifting to the left.

His eyes met hers, and the expression in them hit her with the quiet devastation of a silent hurricane. Ripped her apart, left her in pieces. A moment of rushing disorientation, and then, the world, shifted, spun off its axis for an agonising moment, realigning and resuming its terrible motion. Everything was exactly the same, and yet, everything was completely different.

He knew… he knew everything. How the hell it was possible, she had no idea, but the way he was looking at her now, left no room for doubt. His crumpled and dirty clothes, jarred against the expression on his face, one lifted straight from her dreams. Dreams where they rode in noiseless cars, and wore a new shirt everyday, ate at diners, and kissed in the back rows of late night movies.

She remembered their last kiss, she remembered it's desperate quality, the intensity, the hunger in it, the look in his eyes, possessive, demanding, as though he was committing everything to memory.

"_You're never going to forgive me for that… but it was worth it"_

"Charlotte –" he said, his voice more rough, more raw than she had expected. She beat him to it, jumping to her feet. He tensed, seeing her paused to run. He stepped tentatively forward, and part of her wanted to match his movement, fall into his arms.

For, if the world was falling down, who else would she turn to?

As the thought crossed her mind, she felt a sob escape her, as that renegade tear finally slid down her cheek. Shaking her head, wrapping her arms around herself, she started to back away from his advance.

"Charlie" he said, his tone pained, his eyes telling her all the things she couldn't stand to hear just now.

Without another thought, she turned, and she ran.

She ran for her life. Her lungs were burning, her legs screaming at her as she finally started to slow. The sound of her breathing was harsh, too harsh, she couldn't hear anything else.

The breaths drew in and out, ragged and pained, as she inhaled the deep burn, filled her lungs with it, anything to blow out the memories that suddenly existed in her head. Her eyes stung. When had she last cried, she couldn't even remember… When Nora had died? She felt tears like a bubbles rush up her throat and she clamped her mouth shut to stop them from spilling out.

She heard a faint rustling in the grass, and it was the only warning she had before a hard arm slipped around her waist, and her feet were no longer on the ground. She fell to the ground, bracing her body for a blow that never came, and instantly twisted around to see Monroe lying over her, his arms braced against the fall, his weight kept carefully of her.

"Are you alright?" he asked immediately, and she found herself nodding before she could help it. Freezing, she scoffed, and pushed at his shoulders.

"Let me up, Monroe." She snapped, schooling her face into the most aggressive expression she could manage. He barely budged, only looked down at her with an expression of confusion and wonder, a little frustration mixed in.

"Charlotte… we need to talk" he said softly, as she looked everywhere but at his face, only a little distance from hers. She squirmed, trying to wriggle upwards, out of his reach. He clamped a hand down on her hip, causing her to finally look at him, murder in her eyes.

"Get your hands off me " she muttered, swallowing hard as his brilliant blue eyes bore into hers. They lay like that a moment, her breathing hard, him, watching her. His hand finally relaxed on her hip, and she rolled her hips to knock it off, only succeeding in rubbing her hips against his. Frustrated, she relaxed back, dropping her head onto the grass, and letting out a strangled curse of frustration.

"What the hell do you want to talk about? And at least let me up" she muttered, trying to turn to the side.

"You know what I want to talk about, and no – not until I'm sure you're not going to take off on me again" he said, a little too pleasantly, yet she resisted the urge to turn and see his expression.

"Well? Talk –" she finally ground out, after an extended silence, in which she was all too aware of his body against hers.

"What do you remember about last night." He asked, and she felt red start to creep into her cheeks.

"Nothing" she said, mulishly, still avoiding his look. He slowly pulled her face, his fingers firmly on her chin around, forcing her to meet his honest gaze.

"Tell me" he murmured, and she felt that connection, that one from her dreams, forged by loss and companionship, and time, and whole lot of time, thrum to life.

"Nothing. I had nightmares" she whispered, tensing even as she lied, aware of how false her voice sounded. He smiled a little sadly, and brushed a stray lock of gold hair from her face.

"Come on Charlie… let's not… let's not put off dealing with this" he said.

"Dealing with what? I had a dream… you were in it… end of"

"It's not just a dream, if I had it too… and I don't feel like they were dreams, they feel more like memories to me"

"Well, that's your problem" she said, and tried to push him backward once more. He never moved, and stopped herself from screaming in frustration.

"Don't look at me like that" she suddenly said, seeing his eyes trail over her face with sickening familiarity

"Like what?"

"Like – you know me… you don't"

"Don't I?" he demanded back, letting his frustration start to show. She was an eel in his arms, writhing, wriggling to get free, acting like she couldn't stand having his hands on her one moment more. It was more unpleasant than he had expected.

She finally stilled and settled for glaring up at him. He shifted, keeping his weight off her, gazing down at her a long moment.

"What is it?" she finally cried, she sounded like she wanted to cry.

"I just watched you die, Charlotte… the least you could do is give me a minute to process that" he ground out, and was relieved when the strength went out her arms, and she relaxed down, letting her head hit the floor, and her breath out all in one. They stayed like that, her, fighting the comfort being near him gave her, him, trying to remember how he was supposed to act around her. After a long while, he rolled to the side, and let his back fall to the ground, throwing an arm over his head as he sprawled on the grass, looking up at the sky. Charlie sat up beside him, and shaking grass out her long hair, stood up, avoiding his eyes.

"We still need to talk… you know that, right?" he asked, making her pause as she started to move away. She hesitated by his feet a moment longer, and then turning toward him, he started to sit up in anticipation, when he felt her boot connect with his side. The pain lanced through him, cut into him, doubling him over, as Charlie started to stride away.

"That's for the kiss… you jackass" she called back over her shoulder.


	6. The Needle Tears a Hole

Sebastian Monroe had done a lot of stupid things in his lifetime. More than enough, plenty in fact. It was something he seldom wasted time ruminating on, and yet, lately, there was one stupid thing in particular he couldn't stop thinking about.

When she had shown up in New Vegas, tracking him, attempting to kill him, getting in trouble and needing to be saved by him, he should have deposited her in Willoughby and been done with it. Walked away. Maybe he could have avoided the situation he was in now.

He tore a chunk of hard bread with his teeth, and chewed some of the stew someone had made. It was a poor excuse for a meal, but it was more than they'd had for days.

He hadn't explained to anyone why he had decided to go out hunting this time, brought back twice as many rabbits as usual. Hadn't explained why he had cleaned them so carefully, and ensured the meat was distributed fairly. He didn't have to. No one need know but him. He hoped to god no one else knew, or else he'd be in trouble.

If anyone else knew how much attention he paid to Charlotte Matheson's eating habits, or lack of, it wouldn't do much for his reputation.

His eyes strayed over to her, sitting across the fire from him, alone, eating absentmindedly, without much of an appetite. At first, he'd thought she was just letting the men eat more, some kind of self-sacrifice, but now, with plentiful food around, she still picked. He ground his teeth in frustration, wishing that he could stride over there and force her to eat a proper meal, take care of herself, stop wallowing in this selfish self pity. Most of all, he wished she would stop ignoring him.

Yep, he'd done a lot of stupid things, but falling in love with Charlotte Matheson would undoubtedly prove to be the most catastrophic.

What he had decided to do, the wheels he had already put in motion, would not endear him to her. He knew that, and yet, he couldn't stop it now. He had promised Conner, he had to have some kind of legacy to leave his son, him, whose name had been a four letter word for so many years. He had to do it. He had no choice, and soon, neither would she, he thought grimly, looking down as she glanced at him, setting her plate on the ground.

* * *

Charlie's feet ached as she trudged on. Another day. Another attempt to meet up with Miles and her mom. Something must have happened, to prevent them from making it before. She tried not to dwell on that. It wasn't healthy and she had enough unhealthy stuff going on in her head right now, without adding that to it.

When she closed her eyes at night, even without catching the blue gaze that always seemed to be on her lately, the dreams, or should she call them, memories… started. Last nights had left her tired, irritable and extremely uncomfortable all day.

.

.

.

.

.

"_Jason, can you reach it for me?" she asked, her tone a little more strained than usual as she stepped back from the high shelves that lined the bar, and squinted through the low lights at the top shelf whiskies. _

_Her new co-worker nodded, a grin on his lips, as he effortlessly reached up and snagged the bottle, and handed it down to her. She took it, rolling her eyes at his victorious smile. _

"_Whatever, like being tall is such an accomplishment" she teased as she started measuring out the drink. _

"_Hey, you'll get there Matheson, don't give up hope" he said, passing by her to serve at the bar. _

_She carefully measured the drink, and added an extra dollop. This was for her uncle, coerced into coming to her new workplace, on the first night of her very first shift. Her mom didn't approve, so there wasn't much chance she'd be showing up, but work was good for Charlie. It took her mind of other things, and gave her something to get out of bed for in the morning. _

"_I'll take the same as he's having" a low, throaty voice was ordering from Jason, and Charlie felt the hair prickle up her bare arms. Despite the time lapse, almost 2 months, she'd know that voice anywhere. _

"_Bass! Over here" she heard Miles call, and cursed herself. Of course Miles would ask his best friend to come, why wouldn't he? Her only excuse is that she hadn't known he would be here, in the city, that he was back yet. She grabbed another glass and filled it too, sliding it along to Jason, eyes still lowered on the bottle, feigning absorption with her task. _

"_Gimme the other one too, I'll see he gets it" Bass was saying to Jason as she turned back to the shelves behind the bar, and contemplated how she was going to get the bottle up there. _

"_Need a hand?" Jason said, appearing behind her, and she squashed down a scream as his hands closed on her waist, and he was lifting her, seemingly with little difficulty, until the high shelf was easily in her reach. She carefully slid the bottle onto the glass shelf and tried to tug her shirt down, which had rode way with her stomach. He set her down, and she resisted the urge to lash out at him. He was just kidding around, she supposed, and tried not to be pissed. Truth was, she wouldn't be half as annoyed if she didn't have the world's most hot and cold, confusing enigma of a man still watching her from across the bar. She turned and knowing she couldn't avoid it any longer, crossed her arms across her chest, a movement not lost on him, and finally met his expectant gaze. _

"_Bass" she said, pleasantly enough, trying not to betray her reaction to him. But did he have to be so damn attractive, she asked herself as she took in his tanned face, back to being scruffed and stubbled, his leather jacket, a little beat up and little battle worn, just like him. He was leaning forward on the bar, his nimble hands handing over the edge, so close. As always, his blue eyes were clear, and when she met them, she felt the same shock of electricity she usually did. Something about this man still spoke to her body in some way she couldn't understand. _

"_Charlotte… it's been a while" he said, giving her a lopsided smile. She leaned back against the wall, her arms still crossed. _

"_Yeah, I guess it has"_

"_So, did you lose your phone…." He asked lightly, but there was a tightness about his eyes as he asked, a tension. She shrugged, shaking her head._

"_Just busy" she murmured._

"_So I see" he said, casting a look around the bar, and if she was not mistaken, a lingering glance at Jason. _

"_Bass… kind of dying of thirst over here" Miles grumbled loudly, and Monroe picked up the glasses._

"_Well, maybe we can catch up later… unless you're too busy" he said, with a teasing smile that she remembered all too well. She nodded lightly._

"_Sure, why not." She said, as she had turned to deal with another customer at the bar. _

_But that night had been busy, and Miles had drunk so much, so fast, that they never had that catch up, and to be honest, Charlie wasn't sure if she was more relieved or disappointed by that. _

_She missed him. She couldn't deny it. When her father had died, Sebastian Monroe had become the brightest part of her day, and his absence was like a hole had been ripped through the paper of her life. She couldn't help herself from texting him. She had been the one to initiate the radio silence that had fallen between them, the one to break their communication channel, and after a week of unanswered texts, he had gotten the message. The least she could do now, in the interests of remaining friends, was to re-establish it. _

"_Shame about the catch-up, just have to wait until next year I suppose"_

_As soon as she had sent it, she'd regretted it. Every word, the allusion to the dreaded yearly family dinners her mother had instituted, and the implication that she wouldn't mind not speaking until then. _

_Later, in bed, as she was reaching for her lamp to shut it off, trying desperately not to think about her silent mobile, it had chirped. Already knowing who it was, yet, being afraid of being wrong, she had carefully scrolled to the message, biting her lip. _

"_Next year? Damn it Charlotte, you know my memory isn't what it used to be, look forward to the condensed version" was all it said. _

_She stared at the screen, gripping it tighter than necessary. Well, at least he'd replied, she thought, setting the offending object down, and switching off the light. That was something, she told herself, but the feeling of loss and rejection was powerful. Maybe she'd managed to convince herself in some small way that when he came back, maybe things would be different, maybe he'd had missed her, or something. But no, he was only Miles' friend, and a long-term acquaintance of her family. She turned her face into her cool pillow and willed herself to sleep, and stop thinking about him, the man who never thought of her. _

_A couple of days later, a quiet Sunday night, when she was working alongside her boss, Nora, a tough and capable manager, and fast becoming a friend, she had not been able to hide her smile, as she heard that low lazy tone._

"_So, about that catch up… you owe me Matheson. After all… I'm not getting any younger" He'd said, sitting at the end of the bar, near her seat. _

_She only stared at him, a grin on her lips._

"_That is certainly true, and you're pretty up there as it is…" she'd teased, throwing the dishtowel over her shoulder, hands on her hips. _

_He'd drunk a couple of beers, and kept her company, a 6 hour shift, no mean feat, but there had barely been a silent moment. He told her about the training camp in Florida, horror stories of the bugs and insects bites, he told her how he'd missed his city, and Miles, of course. _

_They didn't talk about her trip down South. It was like it had never happened, in one way, and in another way, it was a constant presence. Charlie had tipped her hand, and they both knew it. Now, what was done with that information, how it was handled, was all that was left. _

.

.

.

.

.

Of course, seeing his face over breakfast, and every meal really, had not been much for her appetite. And then there was Conner. If there was ever a worst time to remember you had slept with someone, if was after waking from an alternate universe where you were in love with their father. It was wrong, and confusing and made her choke. She couldn't think about it, couldn't speak to them, either of them.

The men were getting restless, as they wondered from meeting place to meeting place, hoping for some sign of Miles and Rachel.

Monroe and Connor continued to be secretive and furtive, and she continued trying to stay away from both of them. It was lonely, to be honest, and wondered at that feeling. She had been alone plenty, and had always been fine before. Now, because of that night… she wasn't. Overnight, she had come to depend on someone else, need them like she had never needed anything before, and it was the one person she should never feel that way about.

* * *

Then, all of a sudden, one day, everything changed. They had picked up a wagon, at Monroe's insistence and were rambling along, in the fading light from a stormy sunset.

Charlie Matheson had never really believed in coincidences, or in fate either, and yet, as she sat in the back of the wagon, it's tumbling roll shifting her back and forth over the potholed road of Texas, she couldn't help but wonder at the timing of Conner's insistence on stopping for a break, and the large number of horses tied up at the way station. She heard Monroe give a perfunctory grumble at the time, yet the cart slowly stopped in a puff of dirt alongside a wagon of a family, where the mother was wrapping the children up in blankets in the back, and spared them a nervous smile.

"Stretch your legs Charlotte" Monroe shot over his shoulder, jumping down from his high perch. Charlie rolled her eyes at the back of his head. She tried not to be lured into conversation with him, anymore than necessary.

"Why are we wasting time here… we have to make it to the next rendezvous point by nightfall, and it looks like there's a storm coming" she said, squinting up at the gathering storm clouds, already feeling the chill seeping into the dusty desert air.

"Relax Charlie, we'll make it. Just, take a walk or something, while we're stopped… might as well" he muttered, walking to the front to inspect the horses. She watched him a moment, the way he handled the animals, whispered something lowly in ones ear, until he turned to glance back at her, sending her off across the courtyard, turning in the direction of the way station, a run down looking diner with a ramshackle toilet block lying to the side. She started in the direction of the bathrooms.

At the entrance, the smell hit her, making her feel like gagging. She hated these old remnants of a forgotten world, stinking and filthy, yet people still preferred to use that than the great outdoors. She remembered the pristine and searingly clean smelling bathrooms of her dream, but it didn't seem real. People clung to their traditions, to the belief in routine and Charlie would have stepped off to the side of the road, if it weren't for how many people were milling about.

Her feet crunched over broken tiles and roof slates, some broken mirror in there too, as she searched for a slightly less awful stall.

She had just about finished unbuckling her sword belt, always a pain when using the toilet, though, not for men, she thought irritated, when she heard male voices drifting through from the open topped partition above her. It took her a moment to realise one of them was Conner's.

"So, you're the General's son. An honour to meet you."

"Thanks I guess. You guys got here fast… kept your uniforms I see" Conner said, and Charlie felt as though a cold draft had blown across her skin, making her flesh creep as she pressed against the wall, tried to hear more.

"Of course, we always believed the Monroe Republic would rise again. It gave too many people purpose, united too many and protected too many to fall apart forever. In the wake of… what happened to Philly and Atlanta, well, we knew it was only a matter of time until he called on us, was ready to unite us all again, and it couldn't happen soon enough, with these damn patriots crawling out the woodwork." The stranger's voice continued and Charlie swallowed thickly. What the hell were they talking about, she thought frantically, as she refastened her sword belt and crept closer to the wall. There were shuffling noises, the sound of broken tiles scraping against the crumbled floor. Her heart was pounding in her ears and her mouth dry as she forced a sawdust swallow.

After a while, their voices, making small talk now, started away, and silence surged in. Charlie forced her wheeling mind to settle, and sorted the facts from her wild imaginings.

The horses were here because of previous militia, all gathered here, seemingly at Monroe's request. She felt herself squeeze backward into the smallest muddied corner of the bathroom, her hands were suddenly clammy. Monroe was trying to rebuild the Republic, there was no other explanation, and he had enlisted his son, and they already had supporters, if the number of men out there was any indication.

There weren't going to the rendezvous point, they weren't interested in freeing people from the Patriots, only with replacing them as head of the power.

The first treacherous thought to pass her mind, in that wild instant after the news had sunk in, was betrayal. Bass, her Bass… had been lying to her. She felt as though he had cheated on her, for a mere moment, a hot flash of anger and jealously shot through her, before her rational thoughts returned.

There were more important things at stake here than her pride, or her freaky dream emotions, she reminded herself as she opened the door, and stepped out, walking through the broken bathroom, past fragmented mirrors, her own likeness broken into a thousand pieces around her as she headed out into the night. Monroe couldn't be allowed to bring back the Republic, Miles would kill him, or her mother would, and the whole thing would just make him that guy again The one with the crazy, tormented eyes. That stranger who had worn his face for a while. She couldn't stand to see him become it, and she didn't care to question why exactly the thought abhorred her so much.

She needed help, against Monroe and now, Connor too, not to mention the men already gathered. Only Miles could reason with him, she thought as she started toward the wagon. She had to find Miles and her mom, before it was too late, before he was too far gone.

If she was going to get away, it would have to be now, before they realised how much she knew, she told herself, forcing her walk to be careless, an amble to stretch the legs, nothing more, willed her hands to be loose and relaxed, not ready to clutch at her weapons at a moments notice. She saw their wagon ahead, saw that men had started to congregate around it. If she was going to get away, there was really only one person to worry about, she thought, as he eyes searched for him, not seeing him in the group, and with relief, started to veer slightly off, to the left and the woods. What to do about Duncan's men, she wasn't sure. Yeah, they were supposed to be loyal to her, but who knows who they would chose… or worse, to get in Monroe's way, might mean to end up dead, and she didn't want their blood on her hands. She had enough already.

She kept her slow pace, tried to play off her strategizing looks as innocent star gazing as she wandered. She made it to the edge of the tree line, and with one last glance back, feeling no eyes on her, ducked into the dark leafy cover.

Inside the forest was quiet, and the darkness fell like a welcoming shroud around her shoulders, as all pretence of ease slipped away, and she morphed into movements she was more comfortable with, a crouch, a low run, her hands on her sword belt and gun. She started away from the tree line, seeking the deeper, even darker depths of the tall pines, already thinking ahead, how to get to Miles and her mother, how to warn them.

"Charlie?" the voice came from behind her, and she froze, fighting the urge to run as she turned around. Monroe stood behind her about 20 meters away, the tree line behind him, and the way he watched her, his eyes narrowed, his stance deceptively casual, she knew he had realised.

"What's up?" she offered, thinking she might as well see it through, this ruse that no one believed. He smiled, yet it didn't reach his eyes.

"Are you speaking to me now?" he asked, tilting his head to the side, watching her.

"Where are you going?" he asked finally, as she bit her tongue from saying something she'd probably regret.

"Nowhere" she lied, and their gazes held, as they both waiting to see which one would break first. He stepped forward, and instinctively, she stepped backward, and they froze in that pose for a moment. She saw the moment Monroe dropped the mask, the moment he stopped pretending along with her.

"I need you Charlie… I need your help." He said, honestly, and those beseeching eyes called her. She shook her head.

"I can't help you do this… it's wrong. Let's just fight the patriots, and then-"

"And then what? Someone will take over, you know they will. Are you saying that you'd rather it be someone you don't even know… have no influence over… than me?" his voice sounded hoarse.

"I don't have influence over you either…"

"The hell you don't. Help me, Charlotte, guide me, be my conscience" he said. She backed away, her shaking back and forth, back and forth, rejecting his words.

"Stop it! I can't be anything to you… we are nothing, there is nothing between is, only a bad dream, that for some reason, we both share."

He stopped his advance, and actually looked hurt by that. His face then underwent a subtle transformation. The hurt, the rejected look, slowly a slight hardening of his jaw, his eyes got a little colder. One moment, he was pained, and open, the next, a blank wall. He stepped forward again, this time a lot more purposefully than before.

"Are really able to lie to yourself like that, and believe it?" he asked

"I'm not lying. It's how I feel" he shook his head a little at that, but continued unperturbed, watching her take a cautious step back.

"Don't be afraid of me Charlie, you know I'd never hurt you" he said, and she almost believed him, so sincere were those blue eyes. Her lips twisted in a wry smile.

"You are _already_ hurting me" she offered, with a raised eyebrow, testing another backward step. He looked at her a moment more, before stepping forward, maintaining the distance between them.

"So… stop making me" he murmured. Charlie's fingers were itching to reach for her gun, yet she knew how closely he was watching her. She took another step back, and decided it was now of never, her hands finally gripping the hilt of the hand gun from her waistband and bringing it up to point at his face at the same moment he mirrored the action with his own gun. They stood at that stalemate for a heartbeat. Two. Three.

"You could just let me go…" she whispered.

"We both know I can't do that… you're the best bet for getting Miles and your mother on my side… and stopping Aaron from cooking me in my skin… and – you know I just can't." He started to walk toward her, his gun never wavering as he approached, and she was forced to step backwards, not able to look down, she felt her feet slipping over the tangled roots and fallen branches. He suddenly picked up his pace, and swearing she wrenched her gaze from his to glance down, feeling her feet start to slip underneath her.

She landed with a whoosh, her finger pulling the tiger of her gun. She tensed waiting for the sound of the shot, yet it never came. She looked in shock down at the gun in her hand, instantly realising what he had done. She was back on her feet a moment later, Monroe closing the ground between them. She turned and started to run.

The forest, the welcome darkness of before was now an obstacle as she ran as fast as she could, jumping over fallen trees and impassable areas. She could hear him behind her, the leaves rustling and twigs snapping, ever closer and closer. He would catch up to her, she knew it, he was faster, yet, there was nothing else to be done. She couldn't not fight him, couldn't not reach for freedom, when it was once again threatened.

Finally she felt his hands touch her waist, and she felt the oddest sensation, a hiccup of tears on her lips, a thump from a heart that felt strangely betrayed, spilling out as a wretched cry from her lips.

Next his weight was boring into her, and her legs were folding, and the forests mossy floor rushing to meet her face as she fell. Once down, the urge to cry did not pass, in fact it only magnified as he wrestled her over, holding her pined to the floor with his body, his hands on her wrists. She bit and clawed and kicked with all her might, anything to escape this man, and escape the building feeling of something indescribable in her chest.

"Charlie, stop it… Charlie!" he shouted, his face close to hers, as she twisted and bucked beneath him. Her face felt swollen with rage, and blood, her lips a snarl, and her cheeks salted with useless tears.

He shifted his body as she attempted to get her legs around his neck, moving so he sat against her thrashing legs.

"Charlie… please… you are going to hurt yourself" he shouted into her face, and she finally met his gaze, his eyes intense on hers, the cords in his neck standing up with strain. As their eyes met, she felt that fight dissipate, dissolve into the sea of her disappointment. She slumped to the ground, her muscles suddenly slack and heavy, her chest heaving with exertion, and fighting the urge to cry.

"Don't you mean that you'll hurt me… that's what you do, right? Hurt people… it's all you know how to do" she cried at him, her words cutting.

He sank back on his heels, letting out his breath with a long sigh, and looking down at her, his head tilted to the side. His hands relaxed a touch, and without warning, her hand was moving, slipping from his grasp and scratching along with face, in half slap, half savaging. He instantly grabbed her hand again, this time, pulling it over her head, pining her back so completely, his face, was lowered to only inches from her own. She saw the long lines her jagged nails had dug, already filling with blood, with satisfaction.

"Jesus, Charlie" he swore as blood started to drip down his cheek.

"I hate you" she spat at him, her blue eyes burning with the same intensity they had all the many nights she had lain awake and imagined killing him. He swallowed, and looked away, burnt by the honesty in that gaze.

"That's funny... I seem to remember you telling me you loved me, when you were taking me to your bed" he said cruelly, and she felt humiliation rage through her.

"You're such a bastard.

"I don't doubt it. But, that's not really my problem right now… whether my son's girlfriend likes me" he attempted a lopsided smile at her, and the wrongness, of those words, in this situation almost rung a laugh from her defeated chest.

"You tell your son… if he comes near me, if he even speaks to me again… I'll castrate him" she said with a smile that was a promise.

"You can tell him yourself. Let's go" Monroe said, as he tried to pull her into a standing position.

"Get up, Charlie" he warned, his voice low. She sank down again, completely uncooperative. A dead weight in his arms. She would not make it easier for him, she would never make it easier for him. With a sigh, he stood and pulled her up, uncoiling a rope from his pocket, and she look at him, her lip curled in distain.

"I – can't have you getting away" he muttered as he tied her wrists. He pulled it tightly, tried not to leave it loose, for fear of hurting her, as he knew she would not hesitate to use that weakness, to exploit his desire not to hurt her. Charlie was a survivor, and she had already endured far more than she had a right to at her age. She was a scrapper, and it was one of the things he admired most about her. Her hands suitably trussed up, he tugged her forward, and grunted in frustration as he realised she wasn't going to walk. She stood there, looking at his, her face a mask of stubbornness, and something else too. Something that made him a whole lot more uncomfortable to see. Disappointment. As though she had expected more from him than this, had hoped for more, had perhaps imagined for a moment that he could be a better man. Well, it was a notion he had better disabuse her off sooner rather than later. He couldn't be anyone else, than the twisted, power hungry son of a bitch he knew himself to be. And god forbid someone like Charlie, someone as brave and honest, as devoted to her loved ones, should ever be confused about that.

He dropped forward before her, and swung her over his shoulders, feeling the light weight of her body settle on him, rigid with anger and frustration. He made sure to hold her hands far from his weapons, anticipating her movements. He hair trailed down, brushing his neck at intervals as he walked through the dark forest. It's touch silken, and soft, making him wish he could close his eyes and bury his face in the crook of her neck, tell her it had all been a mistake and he was the man she hoped he was. The light brushes transporting him to another place, another life, where he had dismantled a barrier between them, pulled her back to life, and she had claimed his heart all in one go. He could still feel her strong fists pounding into his chest, as her tears fell, from dangerous eyes. Even torn apart, she was magnificent, he remembered as he had helped her into the shower, and she had tilted her face into the warm water cascading down, closed her eyes, and started to make some kind of peace, and he started to have some extremely inappropriate thoughts about his best friend's niece.

He wanted to be that man again, wanted to see himself through her eyes, yet, this was not that world, and none of them had the luxuries they'd once had, he could only be the man this world had made him. And, after all, he had made a promise, the only thing he'd had to give, and achieving it would once again make enemies of those he wished to call family, so the sooner she realised it, the better.


	7. The Old Familiar Sting

**Thanks for the feedback guys... remember, it takes a second to drop a line and a whole lot longer to write, so thanks for the motivation! **

**Thanks also to showthemmoreheartthanscars over on tumblr for the beautiful story cover, you guys should all check out her edits, they're awesome.**

**A lot of people are worried that Monroe would never hurt Charlie, and I don't think he would either, hopefully this chapter will show the dynamic between the two now, considering their 'history' real and dream, and the feelings between them. However, I would like to clarify that I am a pretty angsty writer, so if you're more of a happy, cheery type, this may not be the story for you... consider fair warning given. **

* * *

The swaying motion of the wagon was starting to make her feel seasick, Charlie realised as she shifted around in the bottom. She was starting to lose count of the hours they had been traveling, and she had no idea where they were. After her first 10 attempts to escape, and she had stabbed a Militia man, Monroe had finally handcuffed her to the bed of the wagon, hands spread out, a short leash, so all she could do was stare at the sky as they rolled on. Sometimes she saw men that walked their horses too close to the sides of the wagon, but she didn't recognise anyone. They seemed exactly the same as they had when she had been trying to free Danny. Faceless and emotionless autorons, following Monroe's every whim.

She wondered if Danny had been in the same position as her, and the thought added fire to the anger burning in her toward Sebastian Monroe.

She hadn't seen Connor again since the fool had dared to try and spread a coat underneath her, so she'd be more comfortable and she had had a clean shot at his ear. To think he'd enjoyed it so much before, when she'd bit it, he didn't enjoy it so much now, she thought with her bloody smile as he had pulled away, roaring in agony.

"Charlie, play nice" Monroe had reprimanded from the side, barely glancing at his son's bloody ear as he spurred his horse on.

Men like Monroe barely noticed blood, or death or violence, they were men born to it, bred for it, and uniquely talented in bestowing it.

And so, it fell to him to deal with her. Connor wouldn't speak to her, and Monroe hadn't let the other men tend her. He didn't trust them with her, and she supposed she should be grateful, but she wasn't, as it only meant she had to see him more than ever, and she couldn't stand the sight of his face, carefully washed of expression, his eyes, hiding everything from her, his hands too soft with her, too considerate.

The wagon swayed on a particularly large hole, and her nausea rose, her mouth becoming hot and sour, she struggled to move her arms a little straighter, and bend her head away from her makeshift bed as much as possible, before she started vomiting.

It rose up her throat, hot and burning, liquid spilling out her lips. She wretched, again and again, her wrist chafing against the handcuffs and her stomach muscles trembling. The wagon rumbled to a stop, as a shout went up. She spat, uncaring of how disgusting she might look to the men passing by the wooden sides, quickly dispersing as Monroe's curly head came into view.

He looked over the side, his mouth pinched with annoyance and concern. He took her in, her state and sweating forehead, and then disappeared from view. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, relieved the movement had stopped. She might had drifted off, she wasn't sure, but when she opened her eyes again, the wagon was under a leafy canopy, and she could hear the sounds of a camp being set up and men relaxing a little.

"You're awake" Connor said, and she jumped as she saw him sitting on the edge of the wagon bed.

"You're observant" she snapped at him, further irritated by his self pitying expression. He looked at her as though he wanted to say something, but then stopped himself and looked away. She lay back down and ignored him. She focused on the sounds. Connor remained a little while, before standing with a sigh.

"I've got to move you… just, don't make it more difficult than it has to be" he muttered as he came closer, watching her free legs warily. She felt another wave of nausea rise up and she held her face impassive as he reached around her face with a piece of cloth.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, jerking her head away from him.

"Just hold still Charlie… don't give me a hard time" he muttered, managing to slip it around her eyes and tie it. She bit her tongue, the effort to stay quiet actually making her bleed. She felt him release her hands, and then he was pulling her up. Her mind spun dizzily, this was a chance to escape, her brain screamed at her, but her body disagreed as it clung limply onto Connors arm as he pulled her from the wagon. The ground felt so firm under her feet, after so long lying, walking felt strange, and she concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. He led her slowly, and she heard the movements of the camp pass by them, smells of cooking meat and fish making her stomach growl.

There was the sound of a flap being pulled away, and next, she felt shaded as though she were inside, and Connor led her to a pole, driven into the ground and pushing her gently down until she sat on the floor in front of it. He carefully tied her hands behind her back, using the handcuffs from the wagon, she presumed, and then pulled her blindfold off. She was in an extremely make-shift tent, mismatched canvases held together roughly by ropes, a pack on the ground near a fresh fire pit. Connor reached into the pack and dug around, coming up with a canteen. Unscrewing the top, he tilted it toward her face.

"Thirsty?" he asked, and sighed as she stared at him impassively. He set it down.

"Suit yourself. Die of thirst for all I care" he said angrily, starting for the entrance. She rolled her eyes at his behaviour, like a child not being given attention.

Alone, she looked toward the gaps in the canvas hanging over her head. She could see the men making camp, gathering wood, setting up watch. Her stomach still felt upset, but at least stationary it seemed to be getting better. She jangled her hands in the cuffs, seeing if there was someway to free them, but the pole was driven too far into the ground, and the top unreachable, even if she stood. Slumping back, she wished she had taken that sip of water now, as her head swarm and her bile tasted foul on her tongue. She closed her eyes, and let her head slowly fall forward. She was so tired, and now, out of the sun, she could hardly keep her eyes open.

* * *

The gentle murmurs of conversation pulled her gently from her dreams, and she blinked slowly, her head shaking from side to side as her consciousness slowly returned. She gulped, her mouth was dry, desert dry and tasted like death, and hands were pins and needles, the awkward angle cutting off the blood, and her legs had not woken yet. She was alone, yet she could hear him, talking to someone, just outside the tent. She strained to hear, desperate for any kind of lead, when suddenly the material was flicked away, and Monroe came into the enclosed space. As his eyes rested on her, it seemed like all the air was sucked out of that tiny place.

"You're awake" Monroe remarked dryly, like father like son, she thought sourly. She half wished she had stayed asleep as she head him approach.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, squatting down beside her, a look of concern on face that she couldn't quite stomach. She turned her face away. He lingered, a moment, waiting to see if she'd talk.

"Ok, fine. You're upset with me, I get it… but, the silent treatment, really?" he asked, his tone a little exasperated as he stood up again.

"Connor said you gave him a hard time about drinking. You need to keep hydrated Charlotte, it's hot out, and you're not well." He grabbed the canteen and came over to her, putting the edge to her lips, and staring at her intently.

"Drink" he urged, and despite her thirst, she was loathed to do anything that would make him so obviously happy.

"If you don't drink… I'll have to find a way to make you" he cajoled softly, and at that moment, his soft words threw Charlie back into a dream memory, so intense she felt sure it had happened.

.

.

.

.

.

.

"_Come on, have a drink, we are celebrating"_

"_One of us has to keep it together" Bass had said, glancing over at Miles with a sigh. Charlie, already the worse for wear, and throwing caution to the wind, had shocked him by placing her hands on his shoulders, and suddenly throwing her leg over his lap, straddling him._

"_If you don't drink… I'll have to find a way to make you" _

_As he watched her with fascination, she raised the bottle of schnapps to her lips and took a long sip, and then leaned forward, pressing her mouth against his. _

_The hot, sticky liquid flowed between them, slipping over their lips and tongues as his came out to meet hers, to taste her, dipped in peach flavoured sugar. Finally pulling away when nothing else remained but the sweet aftertaste. _

"_Missed a spot" he murmured, as he brought his thumb across the corner of her lip, and smiled wickedly, before licking the stray drop off his finger._

"_Did I?"_

.

.

.

.

.

.

"Don't" She warned, her voice low, her eyes burning into his.

"Don't what?" he asked, raising the bottle slowly as she gulped the sweet liquid down, feeling it coat her raw throat, freshen her rank taste. She gulped until there was nothing left, and then turned her head away from him.

"More?" he asked, and she shook her head, closing her eyes, wishing she could fall asleep again.

"Don't talk about that like it was real… it wasn't"

"Certainly felt real" he remarked, settling down on the ground opposite her.

"Not to me" she said, and looked away from his probing glance.

"So, how are you feeling?" he asked, his tone too mild, and his look to observant for her. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Am I suppose to think you care?" she asked.

"We are past that Charlie, and you know it. But, from a strategic point of view… you are slowing us down… makes it hard to justify to the men" he continued.

"Well, in that case… I'm feeling pretty bad. Better just leave me here" she said, eliciting a bark of a laugh from him.

"So… any ideas about what's wrong?" he suddenly asked, leaning forward and inspecting her. She stared back, silent.

"Have you been feeling sick everyday?" he tried again, and clenched a fist in frustration as she continued to regard him in silence, a challenging look in her eyes.

"Charlie… you need to speak to me… don't push me – you wouldn't like me when I push" he murmured, leaning forward, and brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. His finger glazed her cheek, sending a warm wave over her, and she had to resist turning her face into his palm.

"Push away, Monroe, you're not going to do anything to me, you wouldn't… and that pisses you off, because you can't control me… I'm not afraid of you…. Bass" she said, and directed the last right at him. He almost flinched at the word, before recovering himself, and smirking a little.

"I thought that wasn't real?"

He continued to look into her defiant eyes, undaunted by the murderous look in them, seeming more intrigued than anything else.

"What if you're pregnant?" he asked suddenly, and she felt the nausea rise again at his words.

"I'm not" she said harshly, feeling her cheeks heat under his gaze.

"You could be… can't rule it out…" he said, suddenly leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Yes we can. I'm not." She said.

"You're sure?"

"We are not talking about this…" she said abruptly, feeling her face start to catch on fire, far worse than anything else they'd talked about recently. He studied her a moment more, and then stood up.

"Where are you going?" she asked instantly, and then bite her lip, habit was a bitch.

"To talk to the men, strategize… we are hitting a camp tonight, there's one a little ways off, crawling with Patriots… another one of those re-education whatevers."

"You are going to untie me before you go, right?" she asked, leaning forward and wiggling her hands.

"And leave you either to wander off, probably never to be seen again, or you get yourself killed in the action. No, I don't think so"

"You can't just leave me tied up here? What if you get killed?" she asked, trying to keep the frantic note out her voice.

"Sweetheart, your concern is touching…" he said, stopping by her head, and gently soothing the top of her head, his eyes dancing with amusement.

"Who'll cut me free if you don't come back, those guys think I'm a real prisoner" she said, glancing out the tent.

"Right… well, stabbing one of them might not have been the best idea… but don't worry…" he said, heading toward the entrance.

"I have every intention of making it back" he shot her a last grim smile, slinging a gun across his torso.

"Monroe!" she called out, a last attempt to make him see sense, but he was already gone.

* * *

Charlie had managed to get the pole to wiggle approximately 2 inches to the left when she heard the distant gunshots ring around the valley. She flinched, her eyes going to the black night outside the tent. More gunshots, the sounds of shouts, all far away. She turned back to her task, and shot down the traitorous thought of how he was faring in the fight. She didn't care, she reminded herself as she went back to swinging back and forth.

The sounds of battle continued for a while, and then a deadly silence fell. Charlie redoubled her efforts. They might be back soon, or the patriots would, she thought wryly.

Slowly the sounds of men filtering back to the camp drifted to her, celebrating, shouting. She supposed they had been successful after all, and wasn't sure why she felt quite so relieved. She waited for Monroe to appear, and started to fidget when he didn't. She heard the men talking, too far to make out specifics, but she heard his name a couple of times. Where the hell was he? She thought angrily, as she shifted around on the ground, trying to see out. Shouts went up then, and she struggled to her feet, feeling fear settle like a stone in her stomach. She heard them coming closer, and suddenly the tent was being opened, and men were coming through. They were holding Monroe between them. Charlie cried out at the sight of him, completely unbidden, taking in the blood, staining his side, his hanging head, lolling to the side, and the shaken look on Connor's face.

"What the hell happened?" she demanded, straining against her handcuffs as they laid him out near the fire.

'Connor! Tell me" she shouted, and saw with relief as the jolt of hitting the ground brought those blue eyes she knew so well snapping open.

"Hey, be careful, no need to finish me off" Monroe bit out sarcastically. He blinked a few times, shook his head to clear it, and then obviously felt the pain set in, as he clenched his teeth, and growled low in his throat.

"Charlie… you have to help… there's no one with medical training here… not even a field medic…" Connor said.

"Fine, uncuff me" Charlie ordered, offering her hands, her mind already thinking of how she could stench the wound. Monroe was drifting in and out of consciousness. Connor hestitated, the key appearing in his hand.

"You have to not try and escape" Connor was saying. The men were looking a little confused between the prisoner and her captors, and the strange dynamic.

"Now, Connor, unless you want him to bled out, and you don't. I've seen two people who mattered to me die that way, and I won't watch a third" she said, her tone brooking no space for disagreement. Connor seemed to reach a decision and came forward, unlocking her wrists, leaving the open cuff dangling from one wrist. She carefully drew them forward, rotating her shoulders to get the blood flowing, and looked around the tent.

"Now, everybody else out… there's no space in here, and I can't see. Bank the fire" she said, brusquely going to her pack, which had been left beside Monroe's and looking for a needle and thread.

"Someone get me some alcohol" she called as the Militia men disappeared out the door. Connor hesitated by her side.

"What can I do?" he asked.

"Stay out my way" she muttered, before dismissing him. She crawled over to the figure sprawled by the fire. He was lying still, very still, and she felt her heart clench for a long moment at the paleness of his face. She touched a hand to his chest, and he suddenly opened his eyes, sucking in a breath, before hazily focusing on her.

"Charlotte… my Charlotte… looks like you got your wish…" he murmured as she pulled his shirt away from the wound.

It was a slash, a long one, deep in the middle. The blood loss was the real concern, she thought as she saw the floor under him darkening with blood.

"If I'm gonna die… there's nowhere I'd rather do it" he was saying, raising a blood smeared hand to touch her cheek. She swatted it away.

"Lie still. No one is dying." She said, reaching out for the bottle of scotch someone offered her and pouring it over the wound. He hissed in pain, and arched up, his eyes becoming more focused.

"Fuck! You enjoyed that" he accused sinking back and eyeing her warily as she pulled a length of surgical thread, and a rough looking needle through a puddle of scotch. She gave him a grim smile, and looked at Connor over her shoulder.

"You can clear out, unless you wanna watch your daddy cry" she said, and turned around to see Monroe looking at her with almost amusement.

"She's right. It'll just distract her… I'll be fine. Go and rest" Monroe called to him, before letting his eyes close.

Connor nodded, and worry in his eyes, turned and strode out the tent, leaving them alone.

"Now, this is really gonna hurt" she whispered as she moved closer, drawing to the side, so that she could see his side easily in the firelight.

"Why does that sound like a promise?" he chuckled darkly, before drawing in a sharp breath as she started.

It took longer than she had thought it would, and was more upsetting than she could ever have imagined. It was one thing to cut into a strangers flesh, or that of someone trying to kill you, but a whole other one to hurt someone you…. Someone you knew so well, Charlie told herself, her mind shying away from the word that had been about to pop into her head.

Monroe had passed out, and she had almost finished. She took a long swig of scotch after tying off the thread, and sank back on her heels. She felt sick, it was awful. What if there was internal bleeding? She asked herself and then pushed the thought away.

There couldn't be, because if there was, he would die, and that just wasn't possible. For some reason, she just couldn't picture her world without Sebastian Monroe in it. For a short moment, while he was sleeping, she smoothed back his hair, and indulged in her dream memories of him, where she knew this body well, had touched every inch of it, kissed it, bit it, scratched at it. This face, that had seen her happy and sad, seen her destroyed and tried to salvage her.

"Charlie" Monroe whispered, and she froze in fright, thinking he'd woken to find him caressing his face. She quickly realised he was still out of it, but maybe she wasn't the only one indulging in memories of the different times, better, easier times… happier times.

It was time to go, she told herself as she looked at him. She was untied, and she'd never have a better chance. And yet, despite the last few days, it was hard to go, knowing, she might never see him again. What if he got killed trying to get the Republic back, or if Miles decided to come and finish the job, or worse… if he disappeared back into the mad man she had first met.

"Charlie?"

"I'm here" she murmured back, and, giving into impulse, for the last time, her goodbye, laying her head on his chest for a moment. She had missed him, missed the man from her dreams, the one she had loved with her entire heart, without reservation. She felt his hand ghost over her head, a movement straight from her memories and smiled.

"Am I dreaming again?" he asked, his sleepy voice and innocent question making her heart clench. She leaned up, looking down into his face.

"Yep… this is the dream of our life together… and we'll always have it. I'll meet you there" she whispered, and, giving into the desire she'd had since she'd woken up that morning and found out the best memories she'd ever had weren't real, leaned down and pressed a kiss onto his cheek. She felt his hand come to the other side of her face, as it had a hundred times, and guided her mouth down to his.

The kiss was soft, a gentle parting of lips, a quiet murmur of affection, noses rubbing, sweet words pressing into the corner of smiles. He was a whirlwind of a man, as complex and intriguing as space, all darkness and blinding light. He was cruel, and surprisingly kind, he loved his son, and Miles, hell, even her mom. He had made so many mistakes, and tried to atone for them. He had felt the weight of the world on his shoulders, and it had driven him mad. And he had loved her, she was sure of it, he had really loved her, and in the world without the blackout, he had been the person she would die for, the one she lived for. She rested her forehead against his, and then pressed a kiss onto it, her goodbyes already there, in her eyes. As she leaned up, she looked down at him, bringing a hand to smooth over his cheek.

"Take care of yourself. Don't do anything stupid and get killed, I still… _like_ you too much." she whispered, as she prepared to stand. It was time to go. Connor would be back soon.

"Charlotte –" he murmured one more time, and she couldn't resist turning back one last time. He was trying to say something, something quiet that she couldn't quite hear, and she leaned into him, careful of his side, wanting to hear his last words to her.

"I still like you too much too" he whispered, and before she knew it, his lips were back on hers, hot and strong, stronger than she could have thought possible, searing into hers, pulling, tugging, demanding that she permit him. She wavered, hesitated, then instinct too over, they might all be dead tomorrow, and she knew she would regret not kissing Sebastian Monroe when she'd had the chance.

She melted against him, the waves of heat that only he stirred washing over her, her skin breaking out into sensitive pinpoints all over. As his lips broke off, she gasped for breath, her heart already pounding as she leaned away and looked down at him, her mind sluggish under the onslaught of sensations.

Even as she registered that he must be conscious, she felt it.

The cold snap of the handcuff around her wrist latching onto a new target. She saw in his eyes, even before she looked down what he had done. Fury and frustration surged through her veins as she looked down to see her wrist, still encased in the metal bracelet, now firmly shackled to his.

"Son of a bitch" she swore, shoving at his side, making him groan even as he used his shackled hand to pull her to his other side.

"Don't be a bad loser" he admonished as he pulled her into his side, and curved his body around hers, as she lay rigid with anger.

"I just saved your life…"

"And I'm grateful… now, let's get some shut eye. Long day tomorrow"

"I hate you"

"Sure you do" he murmured into her hair, his heavy arm lying over her, crushing her, allowing her no room for manoeuvre.


	8. She's a Sweet Heart Attack

**Music I was listening to for writing this chapter, was Bag Girls by M.I.A and Bitter Rivals by Sleigh Bells (For BAMF Charlie moments, of which there are more to come) and The Wolf by Phildel, Falling by Bastille for Charloe moments and This Night by Black Lab. Give them a listen if you fancy it...**

**To **IslandGurl90 - **he does mean she could be preggers with Connor's son! As it has been some weeks since her and Connor slept together in New Vegas))**

**Enjoy and review pretty please! No Beta -and fast updates mean mistakes get missed... sorry!**

_In her dreams, she was in the trailer again. It smelled like sex, all sweat and musk, and it smelt like fear, tears and cries for help. _

_The filthy bedsheets, and mirrored ceiling. The restraints nailed into the headboard. She looked down at herself, and her skin prickled with horror to realise she was wearing the underwear again. The rotting bow for her unwilling buyer. She wriggled, trying to pull it down at the back, and up at the front, she stretched it as far as it could go, and it leapt back up in her fingers wake. _

_She had never felt more vulnerable, there, with her bare hands, in those foreign clothes, her bare feet. Her shackled wrists clanked against each other, and she saw to her horror, they had shortened the chain, there would be no strangling with this chain, which barely allowed her an inch to manoeuvre. She kicked her legs, thankful at least they were free. _

_A sound at the door stilled her, and she looked in panic at the metal handle, seeing it start to turn. She started to thrash around, a last opportunity for give to her hands, or the futile hope of something sharp. _

_The door swung open, and a man was filling the doorway, staring at her with a quiet intensity. He looked tired, had dust on his shoulders from the road, and achingly familiar. He came in, and climbed the stairs heavily, pausing at the top to sweep his eyes over her. She felt her body go cold under his hungry stare. He turned to the counter, and pulled his jacket off, and unbuckled his belt, sliding it out of his belt loops._

"_I have to say, you make a welcome sight after the day I've had" Charlie felt tears spring to her eyes. He sounded normal, like he did everyday, his scratchy, low voice, this time weary and resigned. She shook her head as he came closer, looking down at her with want. _

"_Don't touch me, I swear... I'll -" she breathed as his hand, dropped to her leg, and ran a slow line up it. _

"_You'll what?"_

"_I'll kill you..." she whispered._

"_Like you killed me last time?" he asked, his voice rising at the end, even as his eyes dropped over her, drinking her in._

"_Anyway, Charlotte... you asked me here" he said, tilting his head to the side. _

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"Charlie… wake up" the rough shaking continued, jolting her from her dreams and into the real world, the predawn light gently filtering under the canvas, Monroe's hard back against hers and his arms around her, his voice low and concerned in her ear. She stiffened and pulled herself away from him, her heart still pounding from her nightmare.

"What was it… what were you dreaming off?" he asked, leaning up, pulled by his hand, still connected to hers as she sat upright, crossing her legs in front of her and turning her face from his.

"Was it… were you remembering?" he asked quietly, and she shook her head, her face still averted.

"No. Just a nightmare… regular one" she bit out, and glanced at him.

"How's the side?" she asked, and bit her tongue. When would she get it out of her head that he wasn't her ally anymore, or anything else for that matter. He stretched his injured side, grimacing slightly.

"I'll live" he muttered, and caught her hard gaze.

"Sorry to disappoint." He said and she turned away, inspecting the cuff on her wrist. She was quiet, massaging the pinched skin of her wrist, waiting for him to stand. They stood awkwardly, him grunting, the exertion pulling at his crude stitches, her, forced to stagger under him and support him, her wrist tethering them together. When he was finally up, she stood before him, trying not to react to their proximity and hardened her expression.

"So General Genius… what now? I hate to be indelicate… but nature calls" she said, and stiffened as he laughed, and rested his other arm, the one being supported by his injured side on her shoulder, pulling them closer.

"First thing… good morning" he murmured, and gave her what she was sure he considered his most winning smile, which, to be honest was much more affecting than she would ever let him know.

"And second?" she urged, rolling her eyes at his attempts at being cute.

"Second… we find Connor and open these cuffs" he said, and she started to turn away, stopping when he gripped her shoulder.

"And third… thank you, for saving my life… I mean it Charlie… thank you" he said, so close she could feel his breath against her face.

"Yeah, well, I didn't quite trust Connor's authority over your men, he's still a little green… just looking out for number one" she muttered, dropping his gaze, unwilling to let him see, to let him know how frightening it had been, seeing him unconscious, hurt, bleeding, how it had ripped something inside her.

"Right." He muttered as she turned away and went to the flap of the tent, relieved to spot Connor approaching from the other side.

Bass embraced his son, the best he could with one hand tied to someone shooting daggers at both of them. Charlie was watching them, trying not to be affected by the way Monroe tried to reassure him, still so young in so many ways, and convince him of his immortality. All parents died, and usually when you were least prepared for it, Charlie knew that better than anyone, a lesson that had come of knowing the man who was currently reaching for the little silver key to their bond as she watched.

A thought occurred to her as Monroe started to reach toward their joined hands, and before she could decide if it was a good idea or not, her other hand reached out to snatch the tiny thing. She then turned toward the open tent flap and threw it as far as she could. Connor and Monroe stared at her in surprise.

"Go find it" Monroe snapped as he turned unamused blue eyes to her.

'What the hell was that? If you wanted to sleep together again, all you have to do is ask…" his tone belied his joking words as she shrugged her hair over her shoulder and turned to watch Connor crawling in the grass and dirt.

"I don't see it" he called, and she turned a self-satisfied smile to her captor.

"Oops… there goes your pair of handcuffs, I guess…" she said innocently, hiding a smile as Monroe struggled to hide his anger at her.

"Yeah, what makes you think I'll bother cutting these off… maybe I like having you close"

"Yeah, that'll be real practical when you're taking down the next camp" she responded, calling his bluff.

"Fine. Have it your way. But you asked for it Charlie… don't forget that" he said, with a slightly manic smile toward the end, that made her doubt her plan for a moment. Anything else he came up with to restrain her had to be easier to get out of than handcuffs, she told herself, but there was something in his look that told her that her imagination might not be as good as his.

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Her wrists were free, the handcuffs long gone, cut off, though the bracelet remained as a souvenir.

That was something, she told herself as she gripped the horse's back with her thighs, and held herself as far forward as she could from the muscled chest resting behind her, and the strong arms circling her, holding the reins on her thighs.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time, but if she had known his revenge would be sharing a horse, she would have definitely rethought. Her hands were free, but her arms were tied to her sides, making moving precarious and highly dangerous on horseback. The slightest movement could topple her, and she had only his arms circling her from behind to correct her, as the horse moved less than smoothly over the rough terrain.

He sighed as her hair once again got in his face. She smiled. The last few hours had been about trying to find ways to annoy him, and so far, hair was the best.

"Ever considered a haircut?" he muttered as he reached up and pulled her long hair around the side, attempting to shove it into the collar of her jacket. She waited a moment after he was done, and with a practiced flick, sent it spilling out again.

"Charlotte…" he warned low and throaty, which she ignored, and continued her other proven methods for annoying him. There was kicking his shins, which, of course, she had been doing for several hours now, but not so often he would think it wasn't natural. Bumping into his injured side, though, that one she hardly dared to, for fear of causing real damage. Yet, the very best one had only recently occurred to her, and she couldn't believe it had taken so long for her to come up with.

Pretending to feel stiff, she leant back a little against his chest, and stretched her back, one way and then the other, making sure to fit her bottom snuggly into the space between his thighs. She saw his hands tense on the reigns, his sharp intake of breath, and allowed the motion of the horse to jolt her up and down in that position, letting the natural friction between her back and his front build and build, until she stretched forward again, removing the contact. She was rewarded with a glimpse of half-moon nail marks worn into his palms as he shifted uncomfortably behind her, clearing his throat.

As the sun started to set and she had began dozing with boredom, she came fully awake as scouts from up ahead came to speak to Monroe, she listen carefully. There were no camps around for just now, but there seemed to be a large body of men some way back, not really following them, but they seemed to be taking out those patriots that they encountered.

"What are they carrying?" Charlie asked before she could stop herself, and saw as the man waited for Monroe's ok before answering her.

"Mix of stuff… guns, swords, crossbow… you name it, they got it"

"Not patriots… war clan? Maybe a tribe?" she said, glancing back, directing her words to Monroe

"Maybe… Let's check them out" was all Monroe said before he started giving orders to set up camp. He turned the horse toward the woods, and Charlie sank back against him, thinking of the unknown group behind them.

"Do I get to come this time? Or do I have to waiting around like a sitting duck?" she asked.

"You can't come, because I don't trust you not to run off… but, I'll leave you a gun." He said, swinging down from the horse, and turning to lift her. She was completely immobile from the arms up, and glared at his manhandling of her as his hands touched her waist and she struggled to bring her leg over the horse. Finally off, she turned to find herself trapped between the horses body and Monroe, who had placed one hand on either side of her, one next to her head, the other lingered at her waist, and leant in.

'And Charlotte… if we are going to repeat today, everyday from now on… you better be ready to follow through on it"

"Meaning?" she asked archly, embarrassed to be caught.

"Meaning… I might be a monster, and you might hate me… but I'm still only a man, a man who remembers what it is like to be with you… don't play games with me" he said hoarsely, and his burning look made her swallow hard. She let out a long breath, not bothering to deny it.

"Anything else?" she asked acidly, waiting for him to move back. He stared at her a moment longer, a muscle clenching in his jaw before he pushed back, shaking his head, striding away. She turned from where he had left her, feeling as though the very air between them was scorched in his wake and found Connors eyes on her.

"What?" she asked, feeling her cheeks redden slightly, and tilting her chin up at an angle to compensate.

"What's going on between you two?" he asked, glancing over at his father, deep into ordering everyone to run and do his bidding.

"Nothing." She bit out, and turned away from him as he continued to inspect her so closely. He didn't pursue it, and she walked carefully in the direction some random Militia guy was leading her.

He sat her down on a stump, and she watched the preparations around her, watched her makeshift shelter being strung up. If Connor thought it strange that she shared Monroe's tent, he hadn't said anything, but he was definitely starting to take more of an interest in their interactions. She found her eyes resting on the elder Monroe a moment, his strong arms, lifting things directing the men, the way his blue eyes kept checking on her.

She forced herself to look away. They were both in trouble, it seemed. She just didn't know how to fix it. She thought about her nightmare, a true nightmare, from Gould's pleasure trailer, and how close she had come to being raped. It had been terrifying, so it was hardly surprising that it showed up in her dreams, yet last night, it had been different. It had not been a faceless stranger paying top dollar to take advantage of her.

It had been him, Monroe, and the feelings inside her had been so coiled and complex, she could even begin to untangle them.

Why would she imagine him in that situation? She was sure he would never hurt her like that, never take advantage of her, so why would she picture him.

"Let's go" someone said, pulling her up and taking her toward the tent, already constructed. The sun was hot, and she was glad to get undercover, plus, she had started to feel a little sick again. What was up with her she didn't know, but she was pretty sure she didn't want to have a conversation with Monroe about the possibility that she might be pregnant with his son's child. Monroe, the grandfather. The thought seemed so ludicrous she almost smiled. She sat on the floor as the man tied her wrists to the pole, and she was able to move her arms a little more. She sighed and closed her eyes. How she was going to get out of this, was still unclear so far, but it was clear that Monroe had no long term plan for how to keep her with him. Maybe he was hoping she'd come round.

What he didn't realise was that, being against him in this, was vital, it helped her to separate him, from the man from the dream world, the one she had loved. Because, he would never want the Republic, and he had not been changed by the world, as Monroe had, and she, Charlie, could never love another like she had loved him, especially not this Monroe, the one who held her against her will, and didn't seem to find anything wrong with it. Her nausea rose again, and she closed her eyes, suddenly feeling the urge to call out to him, tell him how she was feeling. But she bit it back, and tried to get comfortable, better to sleep when she could, save her energy, she thought, letting her eyes drift close, hoping for better dreams.

* * *

He listened to the soft crackling from the fire, echoing around the tent, and watched her sleep. He made an excuse that waiting for the cover of night to check out the other group was what kept him, there, with her, waiting. But truth was he didn't have much chance to look at her nowadays, without someone noticing, and this was too good an opportunity to give up. She had been out for hours, and he realised how tired she must be, how difficult this was for her, and how much of a monster he really was, to treat her, of all people, like this. His eyes lingered over her perfection.

Her hair, the slope of her cheek, and her face, so achingly flawless and familiar in repose, so sweet, unlike any look she had ever given him in reality. Her long eyelashes fluttered on her cheeks, and the shadows danced across her, hollowing her collarbones and deepening the dip between her breasts. But, she was not his to look at, not anymore, and in truth, she never had been, he reminded himself.

He had thought, for a fleeting moment, that maybe she would be… but, she had chosen his own son, and whatever he felt, whatever he wanted didn't matter anyhow. His eyes skirted away, and he turned to face the ceiling. Taking a couple of deep breaths he tried to turn his attention to sleep, as hard as it was.

A sound from the fire caused him to tense, as Charlie suddenly sat upright, a cry on her lips. He watched her orientate herself, test her hands, look around. He considered feigning sleep, and decided against it, just before her eyes met his. Truth was, he wasn't tired, and he felt like speaking to her. It felt less bad when she talked to him, it felt less like he was losing everything he had.

"Bad dreams again?" he asked softly, as her eyes caught his and she let out a resigned sigh, slumping back against the pillar. She stared at him, silent. That was the thing about Charlie, she wouldn't be baited unless she wanted to speak, and even then, you would be lucky if she gave you the time of day. Every exchange he won from her felt like a gift, an indulgence on her part.

"I'm… I'm not feeling well… again" she said quietly and he sat up to attention. He went to the pail lying on the floor and filled a canteen, settling across from her as he handed it to her. Her joined hands brought it up to her lips, and she drank deeply, closing her eyes as she did. He found his eyes lingering on the long column of her neck, as it swallowed the water.

"Here" she said, handing him back the glass. He swallowed, his mouth a little dry as he took it.

"A thank you would be nice"

"Thank you for tying me up in a wagon for days, giving me dirty water to drink and then lashing me to the ground to sleep" she intoned, humourlessly.

"Who gave you dirty water to drink?" he asked.

"I don't know… one of the men, I suppose" she said, resting back and moving her hands in her lap, trying to get more comfortable.

"Which one?" he pressed, irritated.

"Why, are you going to kill him for me?" she asked innocently, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Maybe… if you want me to" he answered honestly, arranging her blanket around her, trying to make sure she'd be warm enough.

"You're insane." She muttered, raising her fingers to her temples and gently making circles, easing a headache.

"You could just agree to join me… come with us, fight with us… I'd keep you safe" Bass said, forcing his tone to be casual, teasing almost, waiting for the rebuke.

"Oh really, that simple, right? Why don't you just let me go… I'll get Miles and my mom, and we'll go to California, and live quietly, we'll leave you alone to rebuild your empire of doom" she teased right back.

"You know… the Republic wasn't always a bad thing, you know. In the beginning, it was a way to protect innocent people, people like Aaron, or Gene… people who just wanted to live their lives, free of worrying about bandits and warlords."

"So… what happened?" Charlie asked, as Monroe looked into the fire, the orange light flickering across his blue eyes, his face haunted in the shadows of that amber glow. His forehead creased as he looked into the past, and she watched him.

"I don't know. I – really don't. One day, we were defeating bad guys, and helping our camp, and then there were people doing things for us, and arriving to fight for us, and asking us to help towns in trouble. And if we didn't do it… who would? Nobody cared about anybody else, post blackout, it was kill or be killed… But Miles still cared… and because of him… I cared" he finished, and seemed surprised at himself, at his candour and looked away a little guiltily. Charlie pressed a little closer, intrigued by his account.

"Why did Miles leave then, what did you do?"

"I… I just got lost, I think. Maybe I just started to see winning as the objective in itself, and not as a means to an end anymore… that's what happens with power Charlie, it absorbs you, eats you from the inside out, until you look in the mirror every morning and don't quite recognise the person staring back. I became so afraid of losing the things I had… that I held on to them too tightly, I crushed them… and I lost it all anyway" he muttered, and when his eyes met hers again, glancing away, hiding their luminous quality, she was quiet, taking in his words.

"If you really believe that… then what the hell are you doing now? You are making the same mistake all over again… what's the point?" she asked plainly.

"You don't understand Charlie… I – I have a _son_. And I have nothing to give him, but a legacy of failure. The Republic is my legacy, it is the only thing I have, as damned as it was… and… Connor, it's what he wants, he wants it all, he's ambitious, you didn't meet him in Mexico…" he trailed off. She shifted forward, and looked at him with those clear blue eyes, more open and kind than he'd seen of late.

"Connor's not a bad kid, tell him, teach him why he should want something else, aspire to be something different… he would listen to you" she murmured, even as he shook his head sadly.

"No, he wouldn't, you don't know. He wants the Republic back, and I want to give it to him, I want to give him something. I have to" he said, and met her gaze, seeing disappointment seep into her look.

"Then… you've already failed him. You've doomed him to repeat your life" she surmised, sitting back, and resting her head on the post.

"That's why I have to be here… and why I need your help, and Miles', to make it different this time"

"Miles will never help, and neither will I. You and I… we just don't work. We are dynamite and a match… and we should be apart, for both our sakes." She murmured, letting her eyes close.

"Or, we are exactly what each other needs, and you're too afraid to admit it" he said, and shifted closer to her, making her eyes snap open and look at him warily.

"You can't tell me, that what you felt in the other place, the non blackout world was something usual, mundane… because, you'll be a liar Charlotte and we'll both know it." He said.

"It wasn't real, just – let it go. Stay back" she whispered, her voice holding a warning as he leaned closer to her, and his expression became even more absorbed, more intent on her.

"Oh, it's only ok for you to play games, right? I thought I had no effect on you?" he asked, and without warning, ran a calloused finger down her bare arm. Goosebumps sprang up in it's wake, and he watched her shrug it off.

"Depends if boredom or revulsion counts" she whispered, and he could feel her breath on his face. He raised his fingers to her cheek, and gently caressed the smooth skin there. Tucking her hair behind her ear, he laced his fingers into that thick mane, and pulled her head forward, aware that she couldn't do anything but follow his direction, bound as she was. Gently, ever so slowly, he lowered his mouth to hers, and let his lips brush across hers. He had been conscious much longer than she'd thought the previous night, had heard her goodbye and felt her farewell kisses. He had suddenly realised maybe Charlie was missing him just as much as he was missing her.

His heart was pounding, making his blood rush through his veins, the fire felt white hot on the side of his face, and everything about the moment had became unbearable heightened.

He wasn't sure when he had stopped goading her, stopped punishing her for her cruel words and indifference, and yet, somehow, that was forgotten as he stood on the cusp of kissing her. He had wanted to kiss her, he realised now, since he'd first seen her, first watched her face down a gun without flinching, since long before the dream world and their history there.

She was magnificent, and he had wanted to taste that, for a moment. That fierceness, was a magnet to him, and often in the past weeks, he'd found himself gravitating toward it. Charlie's appreciation, her smile, her thanks or even just acknowledgement had become the reason he did most things, as ashamed as he was to admit that.

Now, he searched her eyes for some sign that kissing him would mean the same to her, as it did to him.

Her wide blue eyes were moving over his face, and then, her tongue darted out, and licked her lips, bringing his eyes to her mouth, and his inner battle was lost. His lips met hers gently at first, testing, asking for permission, begging for acceptance. He kissed her tentatively, and waited for a sign, some signal. He was on the brink of pulling back, when he felt her roped hand tug on his neck, and tensed, waiting for her to attack him, attempt to hurt him.

The only thing he wasn't prepared for, was the tugging motion she made, pulling his mouth more firmly to hers, opening her lips and letting her tongue touch his, making him groan softly, his body reacting, his hands aching to touch her, claim her. He kissed her hungrily, and greedily, eating her lips with demanding kisses, biting her lips and slaking his tongue against hers, until they were both gasping for breath. She broke off the kiss, gulping down air and he found his mouth pressed against her neck, as he tried to satisfy his urgent need to feel her skin against his. Her lips were against his temple, and she pressed a soft kiss there, so light that it made his eyes close, savouring it's simplicity, until he heard her soft words, interspersed with scattered kisses.

"Hmmm, like father, like son" her words froze him, and he dropped back, pulling away, recoiling physically, sitting back on his heels to look at the girl who had just kicked him in the face, emotionally. Her lips were swollen, stung and red, the colour in her cheeks red, tousled hair and her brilliant blue eyes blazing at him, she had never looked more beautiful, than now, rejecting him.

"You wanna play games… let's play" she breathed, her face impassive as she stared at him. Upset with her body, and her heart, and the way it kept betraying her.

Monroe stared at her in shock. She was pushing him with everything she had, trying to make him snap, make him react, make him either hurt her, or slip up somehow, and she'd escape. They stared at each other, battle lines drawn.

He had shown his hand, revealed how very much he wanted her, missed her, needed her. And she had revealed nothing, she had been acting, manipulating him. Her look was triumphant as she watched him stand, and turn from her, his own body a betrayal in its want of her. He strode outside, gulping down some fresh air, and just hoped her ropes still held, because nothing was going to make him go back in there right now.

Charlie watched the flap where Monroe has disappeared. Her own heart was beating a tattoo in her blood, and her body was still simmering from his touch. But it didn't matter how he made her feel, what mattered was that he was just as much a lying bastard as when they first met, and he had fooled her, fooled all of them every step of the way. He was not the same man, and none of it was real, goddamn it, she told herself angrily, feeling surprising tears well up behind her lids.

She heard a commotion outside, a yell, cut short, and through the flap, saw a guard, the very one who had been gathering the water before she gotten sick, go down, a vicious kick delivered to his ribs, and then his head. Monroe's face was a mask, unblinking, cold. As a loud crack sounded, and other soldiers gathered around to see, he finally finished his beating, and glanced at her, barely breathing hard. His eyes met hers, just a moment, knowing she was watching. She saw his face, a death mask of blood spatter and anger, his blue eyes, boring into hers. She thought she could read that expression… your move, it said. He reached out for a firearm, slinging it around his shoulder, and strapping on his sword belt.

"Let's go" he called to the men, with a last scorching glance, turned and strode off.

It suddenly dawned on her, that being hated or hunted by Sebastian Monroe, might be a lot less dangerous than being loved by him.


	9. Everyone One I Know Goes Away In The End

Charlie surveyed the gathering men, more than doubled in size now, with a true feeling of dread gathering in the pit of her stomach. Duncan's war clan, signed up to follow Monroe all the way to hell. This was getting out of hand, and would be impossible to stop if something wasn't done, she thought, trudging after the guard who was gently pulling the rope tying her hands, keeping his distance. She followed him down to the nearby lake, and watched him impassively as he untied her hands. She blinked down at them.

"Erm.. personal time…" the man muttered, his face reddening as he backed away, already watching her carefully. It seemed she had developed quite the reputation among the men, and especially since Duncan's men had arrived, and told everyone stories of their New Vegas adventures. If the war clan was surprised to see her tied up, they hadn't shown it.

"And, what's to stop me from running away?" she asked, already starting to scan the surrounding terrain.

"Me… I'm on watch" Connor's voice made her tense. She turned around to see him settling on a log, a shotgun balanced across his knees. Of course, Monroe's revenge for her little game. He hadn't been around since he'd almost killed the water guy, she had thought maybe she'd pushed him too far this time. Well, any guilty thoughts she'd had quickly disappeared as she crossed her arms over her chest, revelling in the feeling of having her hands free for the first time in days.

"Oh really… and you think just because we've slept together… I'm going to strip off in front of you" she said, scouring him with her eyes. Connor smirked.

"Well, it's nothing I haven't seen before, right?" he said, and Charlie bit her lip to stop herself from lashing out.

"True" she said, her eyes widening with faux revelation. She slid her jacket off, and then untied her boots. She didn't really want to take them off, but, there wasn't really another choice. She saw Connor cheeks start to redden as her hands moved to the hem of her shirt, and with a fluid motion, she pulled it up and over her head. Connor sat up straighter, his eyes locked on her, and she almost felt bad for a moment. Next she turned toward the lake, and started forward over the sandy shore.

"You're going to wash in your jeans?" he asked, and she stopped, hearing him stand up behind her, still too close. She sighed internally, and lowered her hands to her waistband, unbuttoning the stiff material and sliding them down. She cast them aside, and started tentatively forward, waiting to see if he'd stop her again. The water was cool, wonderfully cool and she closed her eyes a moment as she dipped her feet in, then walked in a couple of feet.

"That's enough, stay right there" Connor warned, his voice a little strained now. She turned to him, swishing her feet back and forward and forced a teasing smile.

"So, your dad gave you prisoner watch? Moving up in the world…" she cajoled him, distracted him, she hoped as she subtly moved further out. He was standing now, the gun in his hands.

"Look, whatever weird thing you've got going on between you two, leave me out of it… ok" Connor muttered scanning the leafy edge of the large lake. Charlie bit down a smile, he seemed unsure whether he was protecting her or watching her. She risked a larger step back, and found the water suddenly coming up to her waist.

"Don't go any deeper Charlie, I mean it" Connor said, suddenly focused on her, coming down to the waters edge as she started to swim backwards.

"Charlie! Stop… I'll –"

"You'll do what? You're not going to shoot me, Connor, and even if you could, I'm pretty sure your dad wouldn't like it… and you've seen what he does to people who don't toe the line…" she said, treading water now, her senses screaming at her. This was her chance.

"He'd never do that to me… I'm his son…"

"Well, I guess you didn't expect him to hurt me either, right?" she reasoned as she swam further and further out, seeing Connor hesitate at waist deep water, the gun still pointed at her. When she was out far enough, she turned toward the far away shore.

"Charlie! Don't do this –" Connor was shouting now, and she barely spared him a glance as she dived under the water and started swimming for all she was worth. She swam as though her life depended on it, which, in some ways, it probably did, and eventually reached the far shore, her muscles trembling as she heard shouts coming from the camp, carrying over the water.

She dragged herself out, and pushed herself to run at least into the tree line before stopping.

She was breathing hard, her body was wet and shivering. So, maybe not the best plan, considering she was now unarmed, wet and practically naked, but what other option did she have. She look across the water, and saw figures on the shore, pointing binoculars in her direction, she made sure she was blended into the trees before turning and starting to climb up into the foliage.

Time to move, he would be coming for her, and she had to be already gone, by the time he did, she told herself grimly, or there'd be hell to pay.

* * *

Monroe resisted berating Connor for the tenth time as they walked almost the green trees, the falling darkness necessitating the use of flaming torches to see. Great, he thought wildly, now it was night, it was cool, and Charlie was out here, running around in her underwear, probably still soaking wet, and without even a knife to her name.

The men zigzagged over the search grid, and he held back his frustration as they seemed bewildered by their lack of progress in finding her. They didn't know who she was, and everything she'd done. They didn't know who her uncle was, and what blood ran in her veins.

As a scout came up, reporting some fool who'd fallen and broken his leg in the dark, Monroe bit back a curse, and instructed the men to fall back. Connor hesitated, unsure, feeling responsible, until Monroe let him go to. His son wasn't responsible, it was his own fault. He had let his injured pride keep him away from her, when he knew what she was capable of. But, to see her after the previous night, had been too much to stomach. So, yeah, maybe he had goaded her, sent Connor to watch her, and it had been petty. So now, she'd probably die of exposure, just to be rid of him. If he'd ever needed a reminder of why he was terrible for Charlotte Matheson, this would definitely be up there.

He stayed, let the men go. He didn't care what they thought. They already knew that something was different with their 'prisoner', so what the hell, he thought as he moved quietly through the trees.

He had to think like her, follow her strategy, because, if he knew anything at all, he knew her, and he knew how she'd think. She'd think like Miles, and that… he could predict.

* * *

Charlie shifted a tiny amount, and froze as she saw a torch come into view. She been perched in the tree for hours, and her legs were completely numb. She couldn't outrun them, but she could hide until they were gone. From her vantage point, she'd seen Monroe send the men back, and had let her hopes rise for a moment, but then, he had turned back to the forest, a determined look in his eyes, and she knew he wasn't going to stop until he found her. She was shivering, her fingers almost uncontrollable at this point and she felt a intense urge to sneeze. She was probably going to get real sick, she thought, if she got out of this. She saw his torch move below her, passing under her, and once again reflected on how strange it was to be hiding from the one person who had always saved you, something that was true, in this world, and the other.

Finally he moved off, and she didn't waste time. She had to move, before he figured her out. She started down the tree, ignoring the scrapes and cuts of the bark. She bit her lip as a long splinter embedded itself in her forearm, swearing in her head, and sighed with relief as her feet finally touched the leafy forest floor. She was quiet, and moving in a semi crouch, started in the opposite direction from the way Monroe had gone. The forest seemed alive around her, insects rustling and animals moving, as she slipped from refuge to refuge, trying not to think of how cold or hungry she was, and what the hell she was going to go after she got out the woods.

A twig snapped behind her, and even as her heart clenched with disappointment, maybe, just maybe, there was a little relief as she spun around, immediately followed by dread.

The two men standing behind her were not Militia, or Duncan's clan, nor patriots, as far as she could see. Maybe they were just drifters, probably, but they were looking at her scantily clad body like it was Christmas morning, their dirty hands clutching at their thighs eagerly, knives flashing in the moonlight, filtering down through the forest canopy.

She had no time, no time to strategize, or plan, or even think about the consequences, she was unarmed, and tired, weak from cold and hunger. She wouldn't win. She let instinct take over.

"Well… who do we have here?" one of the men said, a broad smile stretching across his face, as Charlie let her head fall back, opened her mouth and let out the most ear-piercing scream of all time. The two men tensed, apparently expecting some kind of follow up to it, looking at each other and her as her voice faded from the air, and she stood, simply looking at them.

'Some pair of lungs you got on you, girl… not that'll do much good now" the bigger one laughed, coming forward and grabbing her arm. She tried to punch him, but was too slow, her arm moving in slow motion, her muscles gelatinous. He easily avoided it, and shoved her to the ground.

"Come on now, this doesn't have to be bad" he was grunting as he ran his hands down her body.

She screamed again, terror starting to choke her, Gould's pleasure town and the chain rearing up in her memory. She screamed in his ear, she bit him, scratched and clawed. Apparently he wasn't a fan, as he leaned back and socked her, right in the eye. She felt as though it was exploding as she slumped down, feeling his hands travel to her breasts, groping them. She made an attempt to stop him, kept trying to fight him off, because… she just had to wait… she just had to last a little longer… she thought madly as she evaded the mans hands, even when they wrapped around her throat.

He would come. He would come for her.

She just had to make it till then. She gurgled as she felt her air supply cut off.

"Stop being such a bitch –" the man panted over her, trying to sit on top of her thrashing legs.

Suddenly a gunshot rang out, echoing in the forest, and the man on top of her froze, before standing up, and dragging her with him. She stumbled, her eyes swimming as she tried to see in the dark.

He'd abandoned his torch, and now stood in the darkness, his gun raised at her attacker, his face set in stone, moonlight glinting off the hard planes. The other man already lay dead, a pool of blood growing around him.

"Let her go… and we're good" he said, his voice quiet, full of barely controlled fury.

"Yeah right, why? You want to take a crack at her too? I'll give you first go" the men replied, and Charlie felt her lip curl in disgust. Monroe's head fell to the side, as he circling them slowly, his careful movements coiled with the power of some kind of animal, a wolf maybe, or some kind of big cat. She pulled her mind back to the task at hand, and locked eyes with him, still repulsed by the man's comment.

They shared a long look, and with a invisible signal, Charlie yanked her head roughly to the other side, away from the knife, throwing the man's balance a little, clearing a slither of pathway between their heads. The single gunshot rang out, deafening her. The sound echoed around her head as she staggered away from his crumpling body. The forest noises, and Monroe's voice was coming in and out of focus, and she wiped at the liquid trickling from her ear drum, staring at her fingers, feeling the shock, exertion cold and hunger take over, seeing his face rushing to her as the world went black.

.

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_She shut off the lights, and hefted the garbage bags from the back. Stepping back into the bar, she realised everyone had gone, and only Bass had remained. She felt nerves sweep through her at the sight of his strong back, bent over the duke box, lost in contemplation. She locked the cash register, and pulled her jacket on, casting small glances over at him, listening to his song choice._

"_I hurt myself today  
To see if I still feel  
I focus on the pain  
The only thing that's real"  
_

_She slowly approached him from behind, feeling the song wrap around her. The words. They were so raw, and so real to him, she could see it in his eyes. As though they had been written for him. She stopped behind him, and she wanted to touch him, wanted to feel the leather of his jacket under her fingers, wanted him to turn to her, see her… to have missed her, to have longed for her, as she had him. _

"_What have I become  
My sweetest friend  
Everyone I know  
goes away  
In the end  
And you could have it all  
My empire of dirt  
I will let you down  
I will make you hurt"  
_

_Instead, she stepped past him, and joined him before the glass façade. In the deepening night, creeping in the windows, she had rested her hand, lightly, so lightly, on his, leaning against the hard top. They had stood there, and she had met his eyes in the reflection. Staring through the glass, they had stood side by side, and spoken to each other without words. _

_He had finally turned to look at her, a long look, before interlacing his fingers with hers, and tugging her gently toward the door. _

"_Let's go Matheson, time to get you home" _

_They had been quiet on the walk back, he had seemed pensive, and she thoughtful. Reaching her door, feeling the nervousness that comes with the fear of losing the grip of someone you have waited too long for, missed too much. He stopped as she fished around in her bag for keys, slipping her hand from his finally, as the search proved to be more difficult than she had expected. She finally fond them, brandishing them with a flourish, she turned and unlocked the door. As she stepped inside, she glanced back over her shoulder, ready to say goodbye, when she saw with surprise that he was right behind her, slipping his hand back into hers, avoiding her eyes. _

_Her heart started to pound, a long, steady beat, pushing the blood through her veins with increasing intensity. Her skin started to hum, her breath felt short, as they walked down the hall toward her door, the hall held once carried her over his shoulder along. _

_They reached her door, and, carefully she opened it, with one hand, and walked into her flat. _

_It was dark and still there, the space already holding memories of them together. Very conscious that his hand was still holding hers, she walked slowly along the hall, without looking back, feeling very inch of her skin on high alert. She was aware of his eyes on her, moving over her, yet, it wasn't intimidating, in fact, she felt very much in charge as she pushed open the door to her room and walked in. She finally dropped his hand, and turned, pulling off her jacket, and kicking off her boots, all the while, the blood singing in her veins. She was so acutely aware of his presence in her room, right behind her, his eyes on her, it was overwhelming. She turned and met that blue gaze full on._

_One heartbeat._

_Another._

_And then, he was closing the gap, pulling her in, his hands cupping her cheeks, their bodies coming together as though they had been separated too long, forcing apart something that should never be apart, Pan and his shadow. _

_He was kissing her, and boy was he kissing her. He was kissing her as though she was oxygen and him a suffocating man, his hands sliding into her hair, twisting the long strands around his fists, tilting her head, trying to get closer, trying to keep even a participle of air from coming between them. _

_She felt the edge of the bed hit her knees, and knock her out of the moment. She drew back, breathing hard, and then slowly, leading him by the hand, sliding backwards, climbing onto the mattress and inching her way back, pulling him by the hand after her, as he watched her with fascination, desire… need. She reached the top and lay down, on her side, curling her arm under her head, and watched him. His fists clenched, his fingers trembled and she could see how close was to talking himself out of it. He sat on the edge, one leg on, one leg off, and watched her, while be battled himself. _

"_You don't really know me, Charlie… if you did, you would never look at me the way you do. I'm not a good person…"_

"_I don't care. You're good to me" she'd said simply, without trying to correct him, or argue with him, and she really meant it. He smiled a little at her instant answer. Gradually she pulled him down, bit by bit, until he was facing her too, their positions mirrored. They stared at each other. She raised a finger, and traced the line of his jaw, then his eyebrows, and nose, until he smiled. _

"_I like that… I don't see it enough" she murmured, stroking her thumb across his lips. _

"_I could say the same…" he replied softly. He raised his own hand, and caressed her cheek. _

"_You've no idea what you're doing to me kid…" he muttered, and she arched an eyebrow at him. _

"_You are you calling kid?" she asked, as his hand skimmed over the necklace she wore, a delicate silver computer key, a B. _

"_No one…" _

_And then, there had been no more words, no more futile speech. His lips on hers, his cheek, rubbing against her neck, as his full lips placed soft kisses along her collarbones. Shaking as his face, buried at her chest, his tongue merciless with its onslaught, its teasing its endless strokes and wet tugs. Her pushing back, changing positions and slowly undoing his belt, tugging it open with aplomb, his eyes latched onto her, feverish in their intensity. His jeans slowly inching down, his groan as he was finally freed. Her hands grabbing, stroking and exploring new territory. Her adventurous changing of direction, straddling his head, as she became better acquainted with him, licking, palming and tasting, as he made her body start to scream. Her first orgasm, moans muffled by him in her mouth, as he had held her there, relentlessly, evaded her desperate movements away and forced her orgasm to last an immeasurable time, before she collapsed down on him, a sodden puddle, as he shifted them around and slipped between her legs, inside her, making her bow with the deliciously full feeling. _

_The way his hands cupped her face, stroked her cheeks, while his eyes stared into hers, it was a moment forever imprinted in her memory. She felt sure she had never existed quite so wholly than she had at that moment, in her reflection in his eyes. Then, the feeling over taking, and the pace speeding up, her body rising to meet his, slam for slam, their sweat mingling, her fingers scratching, his lips seeking hers. His name spilling from his lips as he arched, deep inside her as she felt her second orgasm blossom inside her, gently unfurling with an unbelievable intensity, as he jerked and strained. "Charlotte…. Charlotte"_

_The cool morning light had seeped in to find them back in their initial position, side by side, this time, her head resting on his bare shoulder, his mouth pressing lazy kisses into her hair, as their hands intertwined in the air, again and again, as she traced the length of his battle hardened fingers, and he couldn't keep his fingers from the slender column of her wrist, the delicate arch of her thumb. _

_Everything had felt different, newer, cleaner, brighter somehow._

_A new beginning. _

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The smell of food woke her, either that, or the loud rumble her stomach let out as it registered. There was the sizzle of frying, and she felt so comfortable that she didn't want to open her eyes. In her mind's eye, she was still in her bed, her head supported by Bass, her heart full. She could barely remember feeling more complete… more whole… than she did in that dream memory. How cruel it was to wake every morning and remember again, lose everything again. She shifted. And felt a pounding shake her head. Ouch, there was the headache. She felt warm, unbearably so, she realised as she threw off the offensively warm cover, it felt as though it was suffocating her.

The quiet chatter around her was unobtrusive and low, and she basked a moment, that long moment before she had to face the aftermath of her escape attempt, and her current predicament.

"How are you feeling?' Connor's voice forced her eyes open, and she saw him longing in the folded back flap of her prison, miserably familiar at this point. She swallowed and closed her eyes as the light sent needles through her aching head.

"Alright… headache" she mumbled, burying her face in the make shift pillow under her head.

"Well.. could have been a lot worse… that was stupid Charlie… really dumb"

Connor said, coming to the room a little, passing her some water. She drank slowly, wincing as she had to raise her head.

"How long was I out?" she asked, blinking her eyes and trying to clear them.

"A couple of days" she spat the water out.

"Are you serious?"

"Well… what did you expect, after swimming that far, exposure, running about the woods all night" he grumbled as he sat on the end of her make shift bed. She let out a long sigh, and raised her hand to her eye feeling a certain puffiness surrounding it. She hissed as it burned under her touch.

"Sorry… if I got you in trouble" she said suddenly, throwing a limp hand over her eyes to shade them.

"It's alright… wouldn't be the first time. I always seem to be getting in trouble for you… for letting you escape… not watching your back well enough… sleeping with you" he broke off in a laugh. She joined him after a moment,

"Well… you dad is pretty crazy" she murmured.

"Not crazy… protective on a good day… possessive on a bad." Connor corrected gently and she met his frank gaze, seeing how much more Connor had been figuring out about them than they had realised. Unsure of what to answer to that, Charlie simply stared back.

"Where is he, anyway?" she asked, trying to break the uncomfortable silence that had fallen.

"Passed out… he's not exactly slept well, since we met up with Duncan's men… which you can congratulate yourself on… he's been here, waiting for you to wake up… that's the problem when there's only one doc…" Connor said lightly, yet, she was pretty sure he was watching her reaction. She forced herself not to give him anything, and simply nodded.

"When are we moving again?" she asked as Connor slowly stood, making his way to the door.

'Dunno, we'll have to see when the General decides… he'll want to know you finally woke up" Connor said, before ducking out.

In her minds eye, she saw the forest, alive with moving shadows and sounds, she saw the men, and she felt that absence of fear, despite being empty handed and vulnerable, because… because he had been near, and he wouldn't have let anything bad happen to her.

Her feelings were mangled, that much was clear, and yet, the one thing that seemed to stand above everything, was that Sebastian Monroe had become an important person to her, whether she happened to be hating him, or fighting to save him, or watching his back, or kissing him. There was no denying, that he mattered to her, in one way or another, and she clearly mattered to him too. The truth of that, the weight of it, and all it's implication were too heavy for her to digest at the moment, she thought sleepily, surprised to find a new wave of exhaustion wash over her. She should sleep, she supposed, before they had to move. She lay back, gingerly touching her eye for a moment, before closing them.

* * *

Monroe moved through his camp, watching the men rest, eat, stripping animal carcasses and practice their sword skills. Duncan's men had fit in, if a little unevenly, and to be honest, he preferred their self-sufficient style more than his own former Millitia. He had been on his own enough, recently, in this brave new world to remember what was important… survival, and the skills to go with it. He had gotten too used to ivory towers, and he had needed this, to come back to the ground. The reality was that there had been a whole lot wrong with the Republic… he knew that… the only thing he didn't know, was how to go about it differently this time, how to change a system that so many still remembered.

He had become too removed from the men, too distant, and had moved people like pieces in a chess match, so high above them that they hadn't been real, nothing had been real. He had forgotten that people, other people, have families, and loved ones, those that depend on them coming home. He had forgotten that not everything was a means to an end. It was important for him to remember that… important not to lose that insight going forward.

Charlie was awake, Connor had woken him to tell him, and now, he was doing everything he could, not to run straight to her tent and start in on her about how stupid she'd been. He had gone about it all wrong, he now realised. His history with Charlie, in the dream world, was not forgotten by her, just fought against. And, that history was on his mind more than he cared to admit right now.

He, Sebastian Monroe had been in love, wholly, fully in love, for the first time in his life. He had felt the abandon of loving someone else, so that their well being mattered more than his own, he had trusted someone else… something he had little capacity or experience of in real life. The truth was, in his memories of Charlie, he had been a more complete man, a happier man, by far, than anything her could recall from reality… so the real question was… how could he go forward without that feeling, now he'd tasted it?

He couldn't, was the answer, and he couldn't fool himself that some other woman would substitute, there was only one Charlotte Matheson, and she had turned his life upside down, and he wasn't naïve enough to think he'd meet her equal. It wasn't just about her either… though she was obviously without parallel. It was also about him, he was clearly not an easy man to love… not an easy man to trust… and if someone like her could… well, maybe sometimes second chances at a better life were given out… maybe.

He had circuited the camp a couple of times. Twilight was beginning to fall, and he was tired, and he wanted to rest, and he wanted to do that beside her, a place that had started to feel like home to him. He took his place in the line beside the deer roasting over the fire, waving off the men's attempts to serve him first. He waited, watched them, finally filling two plates and grabbing a canteen of fresh water. He turned and saw Connor sitting with some Mercenaries, flashing a smile over at him, as he laughed and relaxed with them, before turning toward the tent, and her.


	10. You Can't Always Get What You Want

The smell of food woke her again, and she came to slowly, the world drifting in and out, his hazy back, moving around the tent, placing a plate near her head, settling down near her. His long sigh as he straightened his legs out in front, and for a long moment, dropped his head into his hands and massages his temples. Her eyes flickered over him as they regained focus.

He looked tired, weary almost, a side he seldom showed his men. His face was drawn, grim, his hands heavy as he dropped them to his side and looked up at her, the jolt of his eyes always sending shivers down her spine.

She hesitated a a moment, before giving into a small smile.

"Hey" she whispered softly.

"Hey" he replied quietly. They stared at each other a moment longer, before immediate needs took over.

"Food?" she asked hopefully, starting to shuffle upwards in the bed. She realised she was wearing one of his t-shirts, the v low, as it hung too big, stopping just past her hips.

"Help yourself" he said quietly, turning back to his own plate, picking it up off the ground. They ate in silence, and she found how starving she was. She wolfed down her portion of meat, and looked away guilty as Monroe found her gaze lingering on his plate too. He noticed and handed it over.

"Finish it. I'm not hungry" he said, reaching for the water. She took it, and hastily finished it off, pausing to cough as her sped made swallowing difficult.

"More?" he asked, tilting his head to the outside, in the direction of the camp fire. She slowly shook her head, wiping the oily meat residue from her lip and leaning back, wincing as she lay on her bandaged arm. She felt the food start to revive some part of her that had been shaking with fatigue and sighed, rolling her head on her shoulders, trying to relieve the headache.

"How are you feeling?"

"Probably better than I should be... considering" she admitted, with a wry twist to her lips. She caught his probing look and swung her face so her hair shielded most of her embarrassment.

"Charlotte... look at me" he said softly and his tone made the hair rise on her arms. She glanced back, and saw such a look that she could barely break it.

"Look at me!" he urged, surprising her with the sudden shift, sudden swing from seeming calm, to anger.

"What the hell -" she started and stopped as he stood up before her, an eerily calm storm boiling in his eyes as he walked over to her, and jerked her upright, non too gently, his hands bruising on her shoulders.

"Monroe-"

"You – you could have died." he said, yet there was no accusation in his voice, no recrimination, only fact.

"You could have died, and you know know that. You knew better than to try and escape like that... the odds already pitted against you... you could have died of exposure... starved, or... those men were just the first you would have met on the road alone." she swallowed, the extent of her stupidity hard to hear, yet she had no other choice. She nodded, letting out a sigh.

"Yeah, I know... alright! I know it was stupid... but you didn't give me a choice." she admitted, glancing at him, and was surprised to see a genuinely pained look there as he shook his head.

"I did give you a choice... You could have chosen me, chosen to have faith in that connection we shared, or at least believe I would never hurt you" his voice was rough, angry, hurt, she guessed, and his words pierced her uncomfortably, shot holes in her armour as weak as it was.

"That's no choice at all! You can't force someone to love you – can't force them to care about you..." he pulled her closer and gasped as his hands moved to her face, cupping her cheeks, making her body flush with heat, recalling all those long imaginary nights in each others arms.

"Why Charlotte? Tell me why you would do that... please I need to know why... I have to know... do you value your life so little... or do you hate me so much?" he leaned in, touching his forehead to hers, the tenderness of the gesture at odds with the strength of his grip on her face, his eyes boring into hers.

"Were you reckless and impulsive... or desperate." he whispered quietly, and she felt an odd icy stone start to gather in her stomach.

"Monroe-" she started and trailed off as she was unsure what to say, how to explain, when she understood it so little herself.

"You were so desperate to get away from me... you risked your life" he summed up, closing his eyes as he did. Charlie felt that ice expand inside her. It was hard not to speak, hard to let him continue, when her heart was denying his words. She couldn't vocalise why she had been so foolhardy and desperate to escape... except that it had little to do with the republic, or being captive, and more to do with running from this man who made her feel things she wasn't allowed to feel. This man who was still too dangerously close to holding her heart in his hands. His lips were still moving, murmuring against her forehead, and her heart tore a little at his soft murmurs.

"Because there is only one reason that I can see how you could risk your life like that... to be free of me... If you never felt anything other any hatred for me, apathy at best, if the emotions in the dream world were a lie and you still me see me as the cold hearted monster you believe cost you your family... then I could see it – why you'd risk dying... I could understand it." The stillness drew out between them, with her face in his hands, and his mouth pressed against her skin, she felt tears tickle behind her eyelids, an urge to cry, to confess and to run all swirled together through her mind.

And then, he was stepping back, pushing her gently away, the strength draining from his tired arms as he turned toward the fire.

"You are free to go... whenever you want. I only wish you'd be better... before you leave" he muttered.

"No more sickness?" he suddenly asked, looking at her. She shook her head. The changes in his mood making her head spin, first tight and controlled like a clock, then volatile and explosive, then, empty, worn.

"So – I'm not to be a grandpa after all" he said with a grim smile that made her heart hurt.

"Don't" she whispered, ashamed for some reason. "I can't talk about that with you - especially not that" she whispered, her ind reaching to their shared dream past. He searched her face.

"Relax Charlie. You didn't do anything wrong... the dream... that was all it was. All it will ever be. Best to move on, forget it. Leave this place, and me... and I promise I will never seek you out, or bother you or your family again..." he looked away as she tilted her head, trying to see into him, understand him.

She stood awkwardly in his wake, suddenly cold, folding her arms around her chest, squeezing tightly, trying to drive out the cold that seemed to have taken residence there. . She was free. She could go. He was letting her go, and letting their memories go too. She could hardly admit it, but it hurt a little. It hurt a lot.

"I – I don't need to rest any more... I'm fine" she said, bracing herself for the disagreement that never came, her voice seemed to come from afar. He looked at her, and nodded stiffly, before standing and making his way to a pile of clothes in the corner. He handed them to her.

"I'll get out your way" he muttered, and turned and strode through the tent without another word. Charlie's heart was heavy as she dressed, strapped on her weapons and picked up her pack. She had missed the heft of her crossbow, she thought as she finished tying her boots, and stood. Well, nothing left to do but go, she supposed, for some reason, dallying, straightening the make shift bed, piling the plates. She heard him come back in, and fixed a smile to her numb lips.

"Well. I'm all set... so I guess... this is goodbye" she said it lightly, but the catch in her throat, the one that felt as though she had swallowed a handful of glass remained. He smiled at her, his eyes were distant, even now, saying goodbye.

"Take care of yourself... and Miles too, don't let Rachel kill him" he said, and she laughed, the sound strange in her frozen throat. She nodded.

"Sure thing... can't guarantee he won't try to kill you though..."

"Fair enough" Monroe said, with a air of finality. They looked at each other, a long moment longer, and then, just when she felt those traitorous emotions coiling beneath, she turned to go, took a few steps toward him, making to go past him, out the tent. As she drew abreast, she couldn't help looking at him, his carefully blank gaze, his stiff posture.

She felt like she should say something, tell him that he was not completely wrong, that she felt something too, but she couldn't even begin to know what it was, but she hesitated and the words died on her lips. Maybe if they'd both led different lives, if the blackout had never happened, or there had been no Monroe Republic, or if her parents hadn't been involved in ending the whole god-damn world, hell, if he were 10 years younger and she 10 years older, if she was wishing for things... but fate rarely deals you a perfect hand, and there was no way to change that.

"See you around... Monroe" she muttered, not daring to let him see her eyes, sure they were shining with confused tears.

"I doubt it, kid" he replied softly, and she felt those words wrap around her heart like a fist and squeeze. She felt the rush and tumble of words pushing against her closed lips, wanting to spill out, and yet she firmed her mouth into a firmer line, and left the tent.

She felt the cold air like a slap to her red cheeks, and her eyes stinging uncomfortably. She saw Connor a little way off and smiled to him, he saluted back, sitting back down amongst his men. No one tried to stop her, and soon she was out of the orange fire light and heading into the darkness. She glanced back, and could make out a strong black outline standing by the flap of the tent, still, facing her direction. She turned back to the road, and willed her tears away.

Monroe watched her go, her even gait, her long legs carrying her over the camp until the darkness swallowed her. He felt as though his hands were trembling with the effort of being still, and his legs ached from fighting the urge to go after her.

He couldn't go after her, he had to let her go... it was the only way. He had realised it well enough when he had seen what she had done to herself to be apart from him, to escape him. He cared about her... more than he cared about himself it seemed. To be alone... was it so bad, if she was happy? He wasn't sure he even knew anymore. All he had realised was that he couldn't go on hurting her. It had to stop. And if that cost him... risked him never seeing her face again, well... it would be her choice. He turned back to the tent, grabbing a bottle up from the festivities outside. If there was any night to get drunk and forget about his miserable excuse for a life, it was tonight.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Charlie snapped awake, her skin freezing, the sweat of her fever making her shake as a cold wind blew. She pulled her coat tighter around her, shifting on the hard ground, her hand gripping her knife as she listened to the sounds of the forest. She was off the road a ways, and hadn't dared light a fire, feeling to wrung out and exhausted. Truthfully, she might have jumped the gun leaving Monroe, and warmth and safety, she thought as her teeth chattered. She was sicker than she had anticipated, which wasn't dangerously sick, unless she continued to get too cold outside, and not find protection. The last thing she wanted was for him to come across her corpse a few days later.

That night was long, and haunted by thoughts she couldn't begin to examine. She felt worn out, and incredibly alone. When the sun finally rose, so did she, standing, her legs shaky, her breath was rattling in her chest. She had to find better shelter tonight, she promised herself as she started walking parallel to the road, concealed by the trees. Better yet, maybe she could find Miles and her mom. The thought filled her with relief even as it did dread. How would Miles react when he heard his best friends plan? What would he do? She mused as she walked, slower than she would like, but it was enough to keep moving forward.

She stumbled on, tripping over roots and logs carelessly as the sun rose higher, and she started to feel woozy again.

In the silence of the afternoon, she suddenly heard a shout, and then another in the distance. She instantly dropped to a crouch and went deeper into the leafy trees for cover, inching forward. She saw a farmhouse in the distance, and realised that there was quite a large build up around it. It looked vaguely familiar, she realised, wondering how the hell she had missed the similarities before. She put it down to her fever in that she had missed how near Willoughby they were. She quietly moved through the trees, and saw there was indeed a large camp settled around the farmhouse, patriot tents and wagons rolling in and out. It was strongly fortified, much more than the other camps Monroe's gang had been picking off. She tried to see more, keeping low. A figure came out of the front door ahead, standing on the porch, and she screwed her eyes up trying to see who it was, but the fever was making her head pound, and the bright sunshine was cutting a path right through her skull, she knelt forward her pack falling to the side as she balanced carefully. A snap, and the sound of a gun being cocked froze her into place.

"Hands where we can see them" came the voice, and she slowly turned around, raising her hands to see the all too familiar khaki uniforms behind her, machine guns trained on her, from a couple of feet away, a slight overkill, she thoughts deliriously as she felt the fever take over, and closed her eyes, eventually abandoning herself to the illness, the dark oblivion.

* * *

_She stuffed her hands into her hoodie pockets and shuffled into the pharmacy. It was warm out, and she was sweaty and hot, but she felt like being covered up, and the hood kept the sun off her face. She drifted along the lanes of products, finally drifting to a stop. She scanned the boxes, so many, she realised, frowning, picking up one with blue and pink writing. She glanced at the back, and decided it would do before turning. An old lady standing near her glanced at the box in her hand, and Charlie scrunched her shoulders against her probing look. Busybody. She made it to the counter and paid as quickly as possible. She stuffed the bag in her pocket and was out the door and headed home as fast as possible. _

_14 minutes later she was standing in her bathroom, staring in the mirror, chewing her lip. That was two minutes... or was it less? She wondered, before folding her arms across her chest and perching on the end of the bath. She felt her phone vibrate in her pocket, and dragged it out her pocket. _

_Her eyes scanned the message, and she hesitated before closing it and setting it down. He was bound to wonder what was going on, why she was ignoring him. She picked it back up, and quickly typed out a short reply – Sorry, can't. Working. _

_She sighed and pushed herself to her feet and approached the mirror, staring again at her reflection. Two minutes... must have been. She took a last deep breath and looked down, her eyes going straight for the stripe and it's life altering result._

_Her buzzer rang shortly after 10, and she was jolted out of her daydreams, lying fully clothed on top of her bed, staring at the dark ceiling. She glanced at the door, and let her head fall back and went back to her staring. The buzzer rang again. She ignored it. _

_Next, her phone let out a long ring, and she sighed. Turning onto her side, she picked it up, the caller display sending her heart into her mouth. It stopped ringing, and she continued to stare at the silent object. It started again, and before thinking she answered. _

"_Open up... I'm downstairs" was all he said, before handing up. She stared at the phone, and jolted upright as the buzzer rang again. He wasn't leaving until she spoke to him, she supposed as she shrugged her thick hoodie back on and went to the door, buzzing him in, and then opening the door of her flat a crack. She went to the kitchen and started to tidy up as she waited for him to reach her. She heard him enter, take his shoes off, something she liked and then approach the kitchen._

"_Charlotte" he said, and she turned to see him, arms crossed, leaning against the doorframe, his face carefully set. She raised an eyebrow at him. _

"_What are you doing here?" she asked lightly._

"_You weren't at work"_

"_Yeah, my shift got changed" she lied, turning away and starting to wipe the counter. _

"_Charlie... what's going on?" he asked softly and she resisted the impulse to throw herself into his arms. _

"_Nothing" she muttered, and turned her face away as he came toward her, and touched her arm. _

"_Charlie... talk to me" he murmured, and touched her cheek, tried to pull her face toward his, tried to see her, something she definitely didn't want to happen, as he would look at her, with those eyes, with that expression that knew her better than any one, and she would crumble. _

_She forced herself to, and plastered a bright smile on her lips._

"_What? Nothing's up, relax" she said, and broke his grip, leaving the kitchen and going to her bedroom, tensing as she heard him following. As she reached the room, she waited and realised he had not actually followed her... but... She felt as though her lungs were being crushed as she waited. Finally he appeared, his face distant, the box in his hand, hardly hidden on her bathroom shelf. _

"_Ok... I'm beginning to get it -" he said quietly, and she forced a brusque laugh. _

"_I'm not -so you can relax, alright?" she said, still feeling a sense of relief as she had when she had figured out the negative symbol._

"_Look, it's doesn't matter... ok? Not your problem" she said, and watched as a muscle ticked in his jaw, as he looked down at the floor, at the wall, out the window, anywhere but at her. _

"_Charlie - " he trailed off, words seeming to fail him. She watched him, and her heart started to hurt. He was reacting exactly like she had thought he would, and it hurt to watch. A man like Sebastian Monroe doesn't want to get tied down to a girl he's slept with a handful of time, hell, she couldn't even remember when he'd had the same girlfriend for more than 6 months... the man was a complete commitment phobe, and she had a feeling that their fling was just about to get all too real for him. And somehow, the thought of being pushed away from him, now, when she was already in so deep, was just too much to bear. _

"_You don't have to say anything Bass. This was stupid, we got lucky... and it's a wake up 't worry about me... I'm fine, and... I just think it's better this way" she said, and flinched as his blue eyes met hers, his expression indecipherable. His eyes held hers, and, as she felt tears threaten, she thought at least he had the grace to look sad and not relieved. _

"_If that's what you want, Charlotte... I won't convince you otherwise" he said slowly, and went to take a step forward, hesitated, and ended up stepping back instead. _

"_It is" she said and was surprised her voice didn't waver. He nodded slowly, his body language already screaming it's desire to get the hell out of there, and she couldn't watch him so uncomfortable a second longer._

"_So.. I was just gonna go to sleep" she muttered, and he nodded immediately, stepping into the hall. _

"_Of course... take care of yourself, Charlie... I'll – I'll see you around" he said, and she nodded, unable to meet that gaze one more time, for fear she would start to cry and not let him go with grace, the effort of which was seriously costing her. _

_She sank down on the edge of the bed as she heard his footsteps, slow, going out into the hall, and then the door opening. She heard him pause again, and wondered briefly what was going through his head, and then, the door closed, and the first long hot tear streaked down her cheek._

* * *

When Charlie came to, she had a blissful moment where she couldn't remember leaving Monroe's camp. So, when she found her hands were tied a hell of a lot tighter than normal, and she was sitting on a hard metal chair, she was already opening her mouth to complain to her captor when the realisation of where she was hit her like a bucket of ice water.

The patriots, she was in their camp, in an interrogation room, by the looks of it. The light from around the door, piercing through the darkness stabbed her in the eye, and she shivered, the world spinning. Yep, looks like she hadn't been ready to travel after all, and her cold night in the forest was catching up with her. The room was bare, a dirt floor, a basin in the corner and just her chair, which she was not getting out of any time soon by the feel of it. As she looked around, she heard voices approaching the door, and stiffened, setting her face into it's most fearless and passive. She wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of seeing her fear. The door opened, and she turned her head away, barely even able to make out the figured until the bright light had diminished again.

"Miss Matheson, nice to see you again." said a familiar voice, Truman, Charlie remembered and looked up at him as he stood in front of her. She didn't answer, just stared mulishly at him.

"Not feeling talkative are we? Fine... I'll talk... you listen" the man continued, and Charlie ground her teeth silently.

"I have to say, I am so glad to see you... why I couldn't be happier" he was saying, actually smiling at her, looking excited, like he had a secret.

"You see, I've been trying to get my hands on Sebastian Monroe for longer than you'd believe and nothing has worked. He's a tricky son of a bitch, but now here you are, in exactly the right place at the right time... the very thing we have been looking for"

"And why is that?" she said, before she could stop herself.

"Leverage" Truman said with a self-satisfied smile, and swallowed hard. They would use her of bait, of course.

"It won't work... Monroe doesn't care about me, he won't risk his men to come for me... or himself..." she said confidently, hoping she could rattle Truman's plans, after all, what did he know about Monroe.

A new voice cut in, coming from the doorway, and Charlie's blood ran cold at it.

"See, now I think you are selling yourself short Miss Matheson, I think Monroe will care plenty if you get carved up because of him" Tom Neville's voice had never been more smug, and she stared at his hated face, as he sauntered in, his wiry body radiating excitement.

"I mean, not only are you on the same team now -"

"We aren't... we fought... he was holding me hostage-" Charlie contested hotly.

"Sure, and you look real banged up" sneered Neville as he crouched down to her eye level.

"Anyhow, politics aside, you have a lovers spat?"

"We aren't-"

"Save it. I know how you folks roll, freaks the lot of you. Your uncle and your mom, Miles and Monroe, you and Monroe... keeping it all in the family eh? The Mathesons and Monroes... it's like a legacy with you people"

"You-re so wrong" she muttered, turning her face instinctively away as Tom drew a long knife out of his belt and held it near her face.

"Well... I've never been much of a gambler, but I'd be willing to make a bet on this... let's see who's right, hm?" he said, as he grabbed a long lock of hair and sliced it cleanly off.


	11. Why Not Take All Of Me?

**Hey guys! Happy Revolution day... which I'd like to celebrate with a double update! Hope you enjoy it, and review and let me know what you're thinking!**

**Warning this chapter is a little fillery - long flashback, to provide a little relief of the angst. **

* * *

_Miles' birthday was always a low key affair, but this year, her mother had gotten involved, and it had turned into the opposite of what Miles usually longed for. It was dressy, there was a sit down meal, and he had to wear a tie. Monroe had heard enough complaining about it to last him till the next one at least, however, whenever he had suggested to his friend that he politely decline the offer, he hadn't been successful. Truth was Miles was never able to refuse his brother's wife anything. Rachel had become more involved in Miles' life, since Ben's death, and Monroe could hardly pass judgement. Everyone does what they need to to survive. He pulled at his tie, and withheld a sigh. He had tried to get out of it, but there was no way, and now, here he was, dressed up in a grey monkey suit, waistcoat, tie and all, and all he could think about was her... when would she arrive? Would she be alone? Had she been thinking about him as much as he'd been thinking about her? Those questions made it hard to focus on his surroundings, and especially the questions his date kept peppering him with._

"_What?" he asked, for about the hundredth time, as Duncan turned around and shot him an unamused look. _

"_Sorry, was I disturbing your pathetic door staring. Let up Sebastian, obsessive isn't a good look on you" she said, touching his arm as he turned his attention to his ex. _

"_Right, thanks boss" he muttered as he let her pull him along to the bar of the restaurant Rachel had organised the dinner in. The place was milling with Miles' friends and colleagues, people chatting quietly, drinking quickly, and hoping for the awkwardness to dissipate as soon as possible. He decided to follow their lead. He went to the bar and ordered for himself and Duncan, and waited. _

_He wasn't sure when he became aware that she had arrived, the babble of female voices by the door. Rachel brushing past him, a reluctant Miles trailing behind, summoning a smile for the only person he really wanted to see. He looked up, and found he could see everything in the mirror over the bar. His eyes swept over her, and he took a long drink of his beer. _

_Charlotte in a dress, all black lace and peaks of tan skin, her long hair swept up, always looking one small tug from falling around her shoulders. And then there was the guy on her arm. Now, he looked good in a suit, Bass allowed, he looked like he belonged in one, like maybe he was a law student,or doctor or something. He saw the way the guy wrapped his arm around Charlie's waist and pulled her closer to him, whispered something in her ear, as she leaned away and laughed. He ground his teeth, and took a deep breath. Long night indeed. He drained his beer and signalled another, ignoring the look Duncan gave him. _

_Dinner was a long affair, that involved drinking, picking at the tiny, fancy food, and staring at Charlie and her date. He practically jumped when Rachel appeared at his side, and spoke to him quietly. _

"_Bass, you how, I was thinking it might be nice for you to give the toast... unless you want me to do it... I could... but I really think it would be better coming from you.."_

"_I don't think so Rachel... Miles isn't really a toast kind of guy"_

"_Well, it is his birthday Sebastian..."_

"_Look – whatever... ok, whatever you want" he didn't have the strength to fight her on it, it was all spent trying to keep it together in front of a certain blonde who had hardly glanced in his direction. She smiled gratefully at him, and left, leaving him to down another glass of wine, ignoring Duncan's warning look._

* * *

_Charlie sipped her wine, and trained her eyes on her date. He was talking, and she was pretty sure she should respond at some point, the only problem was she had hardly heard a word. _

"_Charlie? Don't you agree?" Connor was asking, and she forced herself to nod._

"_Absolutely" she murmured, wondering what exactly she was agreeing with, as she saw her mother stand up, further up the table and tap on her wine glass for silence. Charlie glanced at Miles, who, strangely, seemed to be having a pretty good time, despite being out of his element. _

"_I just wanted to take this opportunity to thank everyone for coming... on Miles' behalf, as I am sure you all know, he can be a little close lipped when it comes to that sort of thing." she said, and there was a small laugh, and some comments that Miles waved away. _

"_Anyway, I wanted to say something to Miles, on his birthday, and, I'm not very good at this... but, I wanted to thank you... for everything. Since Ben... without Ben, we have all been a little adrift. And Miles... Miles has been there. He continues to be there and I don't know what we'd do without him" Rachel finished, the room quiet now, and Miles was looking at her softly. In that silence, Charlie felt familiar blue eyes on her, and felt her face warm under their gentle scrutiny. _

"_To uncle Miles" she called suddenly, raising her glass, breaking the tension, as everyone toasted and drank. She saw her mother sit down, and was surprised to see her gesturing to Bass to get up. Charlie finally allowed her eyes to fall on him, as he stood up, and raised his glass too. Man looked good in a suit, couldn't deny that, she thought, as she traced the wideness of his shoulders, narrowing into his slim waist, his tight shirt taught against his firm chest, and Charlie could remember exactly how it felt against her own chest, and the line of her thinking was making her blush. _

"_Happy Birthday buddy... this is much nicer than your other birthdays, that's for sure... and I guess we have Rachel to thank for toast was so good... she's kinda hung me out to dry" he joked, and the people laughed around her, and Charlie couldn't take her eyes off his face. He looked relaxed, natural, in front of all those people, his blue eyes startling, the same shade as his shirt. The worst thing was she remembered pretty well his distaste of shopping. The outfit looked like it had been put together by a woman, and the thought turned her stomach. _

"_I guess, what I would say to you bud, on your birthday, is... being here, being with your family, and all these fine folks who put up with you on a daily basis is...it's a gift... and you're a lucky man... and you are also my family, and I'm glad to be part of yours... Happy Birthday bro" he finished, raising a glass, and downing it in one fell swoop, to the shouts of encouragement from some of their army friends. Everyone clapped, and then he was sitting down, and the woman next to him, his date, was smiling and speaking in his ear. She could barely stop watching them, who was she? Was it serious? They seemed so comfortable together. Then, suddenly, he was turning his head, and looking right at her, and she froze. Their eyes met, blue colliding with blue, a whole table apart, and she felt that look right down to her toes. His gaze was warm, and she felt as though she had come in from the cold as he looked at her. She allowed her lip to lift in the corner, a smile that deepened as it was returned. He raised his glass to her, a slight nod, which she returned._

"_Who is that?" Connor asked from her side, and she saw Bass' eyes drift to her date, look him over, take him in, impassively, and then he looked back to her._

"_Charlie?" Connor was touching her arm now, and she looked away after a long moment, his blue gaze remaining burnt into her vision even as she turned to the man beside her. _

"_What?"_

* * *

_The reception was Miles' choice, and he wanted to go to a local jazz club, live music, good liquor and dancing occasionally. Rachel begged off afterward, and some other couples from the dinner departed, leaving a more intimate group standing in front of the restaurant. _

"_Charlie... you have to come... it's my birthday" Miles was saying, hooking an arm about his niece's shoulders and pulling her into a close embrace. She laughed, putting her hand on his stomach to balance._

"_Sure, ok, but I can't stay late"_

"_You are no fun, well, Bass, just you and I to the bitter end" Miles said, slapping his friend on the shoulder. They were all standing outside on the pavement, some people getting into cabs, and others starting to walk toward the bar. Charlie was acutely aware of the fact that Bass and her had not spoken to each other yet, something Miles had not seemed to have noticed._

"_Whatever you want... birthday boy" Bass was saying, hoping his voice wasn't as strained as it felt. _

"_You really don't mind" Connor was saying, pausing in the doorway of a cab._

"_It's just... I've such an early start, and the new boss" he was cut off by Charlie._

"_Don't be silly, of course I don't mind... go... I'll be fine. Speak to you tomorrow"_

"_You know it baby" the young guy said, before he stepped forward. For a horrifying moment Bass thought he was going to kiss Charlie right in front of him, and couldn't measure his relief as she swung her head to the side, and presented him her cheek. _

"_Goodnight" she said, smiling tightly as he got into the car and left. _

"_What a spoil sport, I don't approve" Miles was muttering as they all started in the direction of the bar. It was only a little ways off, and Miles kept the conversation flowing, thank goodness, Charlie thought as she trained her eyes to the pavement and tried to ignore her pounding heart. Monroe's date was trailing behind them, on her phone, and Charlie could hardly help overhearing her conversation. Sounded like she was saying goodnight to her kid. Ironic. Charlie thought, glancing at Bass' face during the interaction, which was as unreadable as usual. _

_Before she knew it, they arrived, and went inside, waiting by the entrance as Charlie had her I.D checked. If it bothered Monroe's date that she wasn't checked, she didn't show it. _

_Inside was warm, and dark, lit only by pools of light in booths, and on the stage. The booths were small, and she saw their party was all scattered around. _

"_I'll snag us a table..." Miles was saying, already moving away, and Charlie saw Monroe's date following. She hesitated, unsure what to do, horribly aware that she and Bass had been left standing side by side, presumably expected to hit the bar together. She took a deep breath, and turned and glanced at him. He looked as unruffled as always, and bit down her frustration at his unaffected cool, and met his eyes. _

"_Looks like drinks are on us" she said, nodding to the bar. _

"_Sure does." he agreed leading the way over to the bar. There was a lot of wines on display behind it, and fancy spirits. Bass handed her the menu, and then looked surprised as she ordered a scotch neat._

"_What?" she asked with a laugh at his surprised expression. _

"_Nothing... good choice. Two more, and a white wine" he told the bartender. Charlie went to pull out her purse and his hand on hers sent her pulse jumping, paying for the drinks. _

"_Your girlfriend seems nice" Charlie suddenly blurted out, and immediately wished she could take it back. _

"_She's not... my girlfriend... just, a friend" he said, and saw the way Charlie's fingers were tight on her glass. _

"_Sorry your date had to go"_

"_Yeah... he's pretty serious about his job, gets up super early to go to the gym and all that" Charlie said, and smiled uncomfortably. _

"_Must be difficult with your schedule" Monroe observed, not wanting to pry, but desperately needing to know how involved this girl, his girl, was with this other guy. Charlie shrugged non-committally, not giving anything away. Silence fell between them, as they avoided each others eyes and picked up the drinks, Miles waving to them from their new booth, silently making their way over to Miles and Duncan. _

_Monroe had lost count of the number of drinks he'd had, a common danger when drinking with Miles. He wasn't sure how many, but it had definitely been enough... enough to start looking at Charlie whenever her head was turned, enough to stretch his legs carelessly under the table, occasionally brushing against her bare legs. Enough not to look away when she glanced at him, something she seemed to be trying to avoid. Duncan had left, and he had barely noticed. Duncan was an ex and a friend, and he had managed to get her to accompany him, guilt tripped her really. It was late, but the bar was still busy, though they had lost track of most of the other people from their party, and now it was the three of them. Miles was having a good time, Bass was glad to see, and so was Charlie. She had been drinking steadily, and he could see form the pinkness of her cheek and lack of focus of her eyes that she was a little drunk. She had started to engage with him more, via Miles, and every word from her toward him he tucked away. They were precious and he had been a long time without any. _

_Miles suddenly stood up, and announced he was going to the bathroom. He wandered off, and Bass suddenly felt the lack of inhibition that usually follows a night of straight drinking. He smiled at Charlie, seeing how awkward she felt for a moment, decided, in his semi drunk state, he should do something about it. The singer had started a Billie Holiday set, and the music wound around them. _

"_All of me, _

_Why not take all of me,_

_Can't you see,_

_I'm no good without you"_

"_You know... Charlotte... we need to find a way to deal with these kinds of social occasions..." she nodded as he spoke, then smiled playfully at him. _

"_Well, alcohol helps"_

"_True... but, I... I just wish, we could find some kind of compromise."_

"_What kind of compromise?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him._

"_Your goodbyes,_

_Left me with eyes that cry,_

_how can I go on dear without you"_

_"Well... you know... something in the friends department... just because you didn't want to risk becoming the mother of my kids... doesn't mean we couldn't still be friends-" he was rambling, the alcohol making him reckless, and he stilled as he saw a change in her face._

"_What did you just say?" she asked, and he could see that it wasn't the booze talking for her, and felt her seriousness like a slap. _

"_I said... just because the thought of being stuck with me... an unbreakable bond, wasn't to your fancy, doesn't mean we can't be friends, for Miles' sake." he elaborated and felt his heart beat pick up as she smiled a little, her expression strange_

"_Funny... I thought it was you who didn't want to be stuck with me... you're not exactly one for commitment. Tell the truth... I did you a favour, right?" she teased, and he felt as though she was literally punching in the stomach with those quiet words, spoken with such confidence. _

"_Are you serious? How would breaking it off with me be doing me a favour?"_

"_Because... why would you want the drama? A pregnancy scare with me... Miles' niece... can you imagine if it hadn't just been a scare?" she joked. _

"_Ok, I get it... having my child would have been the worst thing that ever happened to you... you don't need to remind me" he muttered, wrapping his hand around his glass. She shifted across from him, pulling herself closer, the music swelling, and making it hard to hear. _

"_No, I mean... it would have been the worst thing to happen to you" she said, leaning into his ear to speak over the music._

"_You took the best,_

_Why not take the rest,_

_Baby, take all of me"_

"_And what made you decide that?" he asked in wonder, leaning away to see the confused look on her face. His heart started to beat strangely, making him almost feel light headed as he leant back toward her and swept aside her hair, which had long since fallen over her shoulders and spoke into her ear. _

"_Charlotte... if you have been... if it hadn't been a scare... I'd have gone to Miles that day, that hour and told him everything, your mother too... I – would have done everything, to have a family, to have one with you – I'd have asked you to marry me, and I'd have counted myself as the luckiest bastard in the world." he leaned away slowly, and saw the emotions crossing her features._

"_But... you never commit to anyone, you're a player, a womaniser... why would you want to be tied down to – to me? I've never been anywhere, or done anything..." her beautiful eyes searched his, and he could barely resist reaching out to touch her cheek. He leaned back in, cupping his hand around her ear, not wanting to shout, he spoke quietly, her head leaning into his._

"_Because – I was falling in love with you... hell, never mind falling... I was in love with you" he admitted, and steeled himself as he looked at her face, the stunned expression. She looked dumbstruck. _

"_You never said anything, you just left..." she muttered._

"_I thought it was what you wanted, I thought you were horrified at the prospect of... something tying us together so resolutely... I thought I was setting you free"_

"_So did I" she said, a lopsided smile not concealing the tears that had gathered in her eyes. They stared at each other, and he felt as though she had reached into his chest, and filled the gaping hole that missing her had torn. _

"_What are we talking about?" said Miles as he flopped down on a chair, and looked at them expectantly._

_._

_._

_._

_._

_._

_._

"I dunno, I think I kind of dodged a bullet. We both did" Connor was saying as Monroe packed up his belongings, half-listening. They were moving on, had a lead on another small camp, a couple of days away.

"In what sense? Who?" he asked, distracted, half listening, his mind stuck between needing a new distraction, and worrying that if they left... how would she find them again... if she came back? He admonished himself at that. She wasn't coming back.

"Charlie and me... what if she'd gotten knocked up.. all that throwing up – gave me nightmares" Connor laughed, and Bass glanced up at his son.

"Classy Connor, what if Charlie heard you" he muttered, wondering at the maturity of him. Surely, if you were mature enough to have sex, you had to be ready to deal with the consequences. He thought of himself and Emma, and winced. How would he have felt, at his age, if Emma had come to him and told him? He couldn't be sure, but, he liked to think he would have manned up.

"Well, I'm sure Charlie is relieved as me... can you imagine her as a mother?" Connor asked, laughing a little at the prospect.

"People can surprise you Connor... Charlie would like kids" Monroe rambling, grateful to have a chance to talk about the person who was currently haunting both his unconscious and conscious thoughts.

"How would you know that? How does that come up in conversation?" Connor asked, and Bass only shook his head.

"I don't know... just guessing, I suppose" he said, as he heard someone clear their throat outside the tent.

"What is it?"

"General Monroe... a messenger has arrived. A patriot messenger" Bass snapped to attention, striding outside.

"Where is he?"

"He left something, and ran away, the message is only this" his man was saying, holding out a small leather pouch. Monroe scowled at him, and his carelessness for letting the man get away, and snatched the pouch from him. He impatiently pulled at the tie, and finally got it open, thrusting his fingers in, he felt the world stop turning for a moment, as his fingertips brushed the long, silky strands. Willing it not to be true, even as he knew it was, he looked inside, the long, blond lock curling around his finger, mocking him with it's implications.

"What is it?' Connor was asking, yet, his voice seemed to come from afar, as Monroe tore back to his tent, snatching up sword and gun, his blood beating a war drum in his head.


	12. Love Me Like I'm Not Made Of Stone

**Guys, I thought we could all do with a little positivity after last Wednesday, so here we go! In terms of the Bachel reveal... well... it was shocking, true, but the interviews afterwards made me feel a little better - Elizabeth Mitchell did say things along the lines of 'it looks like one thing, but it;s definitely another" well - it looks like a dubcon weird icky fuck up, so hopefully it's not really that, and she also said the Bachel stuff is 'all in the past, way in the past - there's a ravine" I take to mean a ravine of time, between now and then. So - I don't think they have feelings toward each other, I also don't automatically think Bass is a rapist either... I think we need more information. **

**So - here we go, if I am very lucky... and get some encouraging reviews... lo review blackmail - I'll make it a double... just editing now!**

* * *

"_Dance with me, Monroe" she said, swaying a little in front on him, her lace dress scalloping her thighs, just out of reach of his fingers, where they lay on his knees. He looked up at her, hunger in his gaze, her words ricocheting around his head. That rushed conversation, pushed into stolen moments, had left a burning wake, a trail of fire. He could hardly keep his eyes from locking with hers every chance they had, and if he wasn't careful, Miles was going to notice. _

"_How does anyone dance to this?" he asked, slanting a glance up at her as she stood, her hands on her hips in front of him. She smirked down at him, and raised an eyebrow. _

"_That's right... I forgot.. you're a terrible dancer"_

"_You've never seen me dance -"_

"_That's because you're a terrible dancer..."_

"_And who gave you that mistaken impression?" Bass teased, his heart racing at the interaction, this interaction, finally free to talk to her again, grin at her, let his eyes slid down her and see her cheeks pink in response. _

"_Guilty as charged... sorry bud" Miles piped up for a moment, from his slumped position, before looking up at them. _

"_I'm beat.. time to call it... too old for this shit anymore... officially now" he mumbled as he stood up and shrugged his coat on. _

"_Are you leaving already?" asked a petite cocktail waitress who Miles had been flirting with all night. _

"_My shift was just finishing..." she said, and smiled at him, and Monroe turned his grin away, as Miles perked right up, slipped the old charming act back on like a glove and put his arm around her shoulders. _

"_Well, it's only gentlemanly that I walk you home, isn't it sweetheart?" the girl flushed and nodded, before going to finish up her work. Miles turned back to Charlie and Bass, looking positively smug. _

"_Still got it" he said as Bass gave him a high five. _

"_Seriously?" Charlie complained but couldn't help but laugh at her uncle's enthusiasm. _

"_Hey hey... it's his birthday" Bass laughed, as he saw Charlie's narrow look, before she rolled her eyes and went to get her leather jacket. _

"_Later you two... thanks for tonight. Now, get out of here, before you cramp my style" Miles was saying, watching Bass and Charlie gathering their stuff. They walked toward the door, and Charlie felt a heavy weight of nerves, and anticipation burn in her stomach, on top of the alcohol. She stepped out onto the cool street, practically deserted at this time, and walked a couple of steps, before feeling a warm arm slip around her shoulders, carrying her forward. She looked up to the scruffy face above her, as they meandered along, knowing her smile was too full, and seeing his eyes were just as bright. _

"_What is that?" she asked him as he beamed down at her._

"_What?"_

"_That... look" she managed as they crossed the empty street, heading toward her apartment. _

"_There's no look" he said, with a slight smirk that made her hit him in the stomach with her bag. _

"_What?"_

"_There is so a look... seriously... you are only walking me home... you know that right?I'm seeing someone" she protested as they marched on. It was a quiet moment again and she wondered if she had upset him, but when she glanced back up, that smirk was back._

"_Stop it! What is that face?" she demanded, bumping him with her hip as they continued to walk, prompting him to only pull her closer, and press a kiss onto her forehead. _

"_Maybe I'm just happy is all." he murmured there, softly. He stopped outside a seven eleven and disappeared inside her a moment, as she waited on the the street. When he stepped out, he was carrying a bag, and reached inside and pulled out a bag of chips, her favourite, and her secret hangover prevention method, and opened the bag, stealing one for himself before handing her the bag. She crunched down on one, and watched him. He looked altogether too innocent standing there, leaning against the wall, watching her eat chips, his smile entire too self-satisfied. Neither making a move to finish the short walk home, neither in a rush to end their time together._

"_What ever you're thinking about right now... stop" she instructed. He tilted his head to the side and slowly pushed himself to standing. _

"_How do you know what I'm thinking about?"_

"_Because... I know you, and that dirty mind of yours" she responded easily. _

"_Well well, looks like you're the one with the dirty mind this time... I was thinking that you have been fed the most vicious untruth, and I should rectify it right now" he was saying, pulling the bag out her hand and discarding it beside the rest of the things on the table.._

"_And which one would that be?"_

"_About my dancing skills... you see... I am really not too bad" he said, coming to stand before her, and stepping close. She looked up at him confused, finally hearing the music coming out the speakers onto the street. _

"_Now, this is music to dance with a woman to..." he murmured, pulling her close, one hand coming to rest on her hip, and the other gathering her hand and holding it against his chest, his whole body coming into contact with hers, swaying to the music, and before she even realised it, they were dancing. Right there, on a dirty, city street, trash blowing from the can behind them, fluorescent lights from the 24 hour store blinking overhead, and somewhere far away, the trash collectors where banging around, barely muted by the tiny speakers_

_. _

"_I got a bad desire_

_I'm on fire"_

_Springsteen sang, the song suiting Monroe, a little roughish, a little rough around the edge, and incredibility sexy. She melted a little against him, as he slowly spun her around, holding her close, requiring nothing from her._

"_Tell me now baby is he good to you,_

_Can he do to you all the things I can do"_

_She found her other hand moving to cup the back of his neck, and saw his eyes close a little as she caressed the skin there, before they were back on hers, a blue shock to the heart. _

"_Sometime it's like someone took a knife baby_

_Edgy and dull and cut a six inch valley_

_Through the middle of my soul"_

_She should have felt embarrassed or self-conscious, dancing in the street, but she didn't, because, this was Sebastian Monroe, and nothing he ever did felt predictable or ordinary. She smiled at him, and felt wholly complete for the first time since she had thought she had been late. _

"_There it is... I missed it" he whispered. _

"_What?"_

"_Your smile" he replied. They danced on, and on, she let her head rest against his shoulder, revealing in his scent, his hard chest, the warmth of him, surrounding her. _

"_I don't know if I ever want to have kids" she muttered, before leaning away and looking him in the eye._

"_Do you?" she asked straight out. If he was surprised, he didn't show it, as he nodded slowly. _

"_With the right person... hell yeah" he said, with a grin at the end. _

"_I kind of think that being a parent... it's like a curse or something. Parents disappoint their children... fuck them up. I don't know if I ever want that responsibility"_

"_Sometimes it's not a choice... and if it isn't, I can guarantee you, every person who is a parent... you ask them their greatest accomplishment... the thing they're most proud of... it'll be their kids... hands down." he said. _

"_So – you're saying that even if you don't ask for it..."_

"_It will be your most defining moment... that point where you just have to jump, have faith, hopefully you have someone holding your hand when you do." he stopped moving them, and dropped her hand, sticking his own into his pockets, his face taking on a more pensive look. _

"_Look, Charlotte... I know our relationship... probably put a lot of strain on you... it's not exactly hallmark perfect, and then the thought of a kid on top of it..." _

"_No, it wasn't that – it wasn't you. I don't know if I want kids at all... and I was pretty sure you didn't... so..." she finished quietly, feeling his hands tighten on her for a moment. _

"_There's nothing I wouldn't want with you." he murmured, making her heart squeeze. She leaned away a moment and gave him a searching look._

"_Why didn't you say something? Why didn't you... you just left"_

"_Because, I'm well aware that I am not the best option for you Charlie.." he started and overrode her as she started to protest._

"_I'm not. I'm too old, and we both know it, if we did have children... well... it would be complicated, and make a lot of people uncomfortable... but, if you were sure, really sure that it was me you wanted all that with, if it didn't matter to you.. then... even though I might be damned for it... I would have taken it, god help me. But... if you weren't sure, if I could see how it would hurt you, and how you would suffer... I couldn't be that selfish, not to you" he finished and they stopped moving as she stared up at him, silent. _

"_You thought I was rethinking being with you..."_

"_Weren't you?"_

_She let out a deep breath, her shoulders rising with it, and tried to find the words to tell him how she felt, how it had hurt when he'd left, and how the absence of him had been a physical ache. But there were no words she could find, they were paltry and fell short. Instead, she raised her hands, cupped his cheeks, their touch, and rose up, placing one feather light kiss on the corner of his mouth, and the frown lines that were turning it down. _

"_I'll never regret you." she whispered. _

_In the end, he had walked her home, and kissed her goodnight on the cheek, even as she battled her urge to tug him inside the door. They had stood in the pre-dawn light, tired but bright, full, their hands clasping and unclasping, intertwining and squeezing, hard to let go._

"_So, I guess this is goodnight." Bass murmured as he finally pulled himself together and stepped away from her. She looked up at him with a tired smile, but a happy one, and he answered it with his own. _

"_I'll call you later... you know... after" she said, straightening his top button, and tie, which had been yanked quite out of shape over the course of the night. He grinned, his teeth flashing white against his stubbled jaw._

"_Let him down easy, poor boy... take it from me, being dumped by you is no picnic" _

"_Hmmmm, well, just remember that in the future" she teased, and was surprised to see a more serious note come into his eyes._

"_Believe me, it's not something I'll be forgetting anytime soon. Now, go get some sleep" he said, finally taking a step back, after brushing a light kiss onto her cheek. She nodded, turning the key in the door behind her and stepping in. _

* * *

Her trail wasn't hard to follow, a fact that only alarmed him even more. She wasn't this sloppy, he thought worriedly as he followed her tracks, a pace which varied between a run and a fast jog to conserve strength. She must have been injured, or sick, he decided as he used the footprints and snapped stems, crushed grass to find her. Conner had wanted to come, had buckled up and made to go with him, the men watching them in silence, unsure of their place. But Bass had talked him down. It was only one person, he'd be faster in and out on his own. But it was also clearly a trap. They had debated, and come to a decision, and now Bass was running across the land around Willoughby toward the main patriot HQ, following Charlie's footsteps. He saw where she had bedded down, no doubt a cold and inhospitable site, before pushing on.

His mind was veering between steely determination that she would be fine, that they wouldn't hurt her before they were sure he would come, and a fatalistic sense of dread, that teetered on the edge of madness, that whispered that she might already be hurt. When night fall came, he finally lost the trail, just as he was approaching the camp. It had to be where Charlie was being held, as it was the only place around, and much more fortified than other places. He hunkered down, observing, and waited as the last streaks of sun faded from the sky and the moon rose up. It was quiet, the wind blew softly around him as he sat for hours, sit as a rock, watching, remembering, biding his time, trying not to think of her, broken, bloody or hurt.

* * *

Charlie stared at the wall, shifted her handcuffs again and waited as the heavy lock in the door turned rustily before swinging open. She shivered, feeling the cold floor cutting through her jeans and grateful that they hadn't stripped her down or anything else, or she'd be in a worse state by now. She waited, patiently, silently as the guard entered, holding a napkin with some dry bread in it, and a metal cup of water. He set them down, and left without a word. She ignored the food, her empty stomach making her sharper, more focused. She heard when someone else approache and spoken softly to the guard. She could almost hear the faint clink of diamonds being passed between them, before the door swung in again.

"Charlie... are you alright?" Jason asked her, like he did every time he visited, as though the answer could ever really change, after all, how fine could you ever be chained to the floor of a freezing room, being held as bait.

"I'm fine." she reassured him, flexing her wrists so the chains clanked, reminding him of his purpose. Jason stared at her, seeming lost for a moment in the horror of her situation, before focusing, slipping his hand into his pocket and withdrawing a piece of paper and a key.

"Here... this is the best I can do... it's a map of the camp, there are some weak places in the perimeter, once you get there... and this" he held up the key, "find somewhere to hide it on you, and when you get the chance to use it – don't hesitate" he was saying as he came to her and bent down, slipping both into her boot at her instruction.

"Won't they punish you for this? Won't you get in trouble?"

"They can't do anything worse to me than what they've already done" he murmured, and her heart went out to him.

"What about your dad?"

"I'll handle my father. Don't worry. Just – get away. I couldn't stand it if something happened to you, not when I could have prevented it." he said, shaking his head a little and gazing at her, a little like her used to, but with more regret, more sadness, all the things they would never say piling up between them, and all the chances they'd squandered littering the floor around them.

She nodded mutely, watching as he collected himself and went to the door.

"Take care of yourself Charlie" Jason said.

"You too" she replied, saying goodbye as he slipped out, and the door swung shut again, the lock turn echoing in her cell, long after he had gone.

* * *

Monroe skirted the edges of the camp, dipping in, looking in tents and buildings, keeping out of sight, and silencing anyone who happened upon him, as quietly as possible. He had been watching food arriving and guards posted to a particular block all evening, and that was where he now headed. He ran from tent to tent, the darkness a welcome cover, his gun slung unused over his shoulder, his knife glistening with blood. He paused, looking around the edge of the tent he was currently crouched behind. It was a straight shot to the one he had focused on, with only two tents in between. All he needed was a little luck, he thought to himself, as he looked back and forth one more time, before going for it.

He kept low, ran, and in seconds he was reaching the shadowed safety, well, relative safety of the building. He gripped his knife, and listened, his ears straining for every sound, hard to hear over his heart beat, which was beating wildly at the prospect of getting to Charlie, making sure she was safe. He went in, poised for battle, yet, there was no one, the long hall deserted, he couldn't believe his luck as he started down. He paused, looking in different areas, ducking from people walking past, and keeping out of view. After a while, he had ruled out most sections, and the wetness of his palms told him he was getting close. Down another hall, and a couple of doors, looking in, finding empty cells he continued on. Only one left. He reached the door, and with a racing pulse, pulled his pick keys form his pocket and set to work. A sudden noise at his elbow sent his knife flying in an arch, and he turned to see a patriot about to raise his gun, when his knife took him under the chin. He caught the man before he could fall, and gently lowered him to the floor, spying a set of keys at his waist. There was that lucky break, he thought to himself as he grabbed the keys and started going through them. Finally, one of them turned, and he couldn't help himself rushing, so eager to see her face, to hold her and protect her and make her feel safe again. The door swung in, and he stepped inside, his eyes adjusting to the semi darkness, as he made out a chair in the centre of the room.

An empty chair.

Her leather jacket hung over the back, there were some drops of blood on the floor, and, against a radiator pipe in the far corner, an empty handcuff swung. He stopped, confused, his mind scrambling to catch up for a moment, when he heard the cocking of a rifle, right behind him.

"Well, ain't this good timing"

* * *

Charlie grunted as her knees struck the vent's cramped walls again, and let off a long echoing sound that she cringed over. Pausing, breathing loudly, her head swimming with fever, and her nose and throat tickling from the dust, she waited to see if anyone yelled. Hearing nothing, she was just about to move on, when she heard the screech of the door opening. She froze, her blood pumping with adrenaline, the urge to flee strong, yet, she was scared to move and make more noise. She strained her ears to hear, but didn't hear anyone shouting an alarm, didn't hear anything like what she expected to after a cell is found empty. The she could hear muffled voices. Not too far to make out the words, but too far to recognise the speakers.

"Well, ain't this good timing"

"Tom... I should have known this'd be your work..." a low voice, speaking slowly, cockily. She heard the sound of the hated and well remembered chair scraping across the floor.

"Make yourself comfortable" one of the voices, Neville's, she guessed continued.

"Why, don't mind if I do" the other voice said, and Charlie felt her mouth go dry. The tone, the mocking quality. There were only 2 men she knew who were unafraid of Tom Neville and would literally stare death in the eye without blinking, and neither of them, as much as it pained her to admit it, did she want to see dead. And, there as only one who had received Neville's invite, as far as she knew. She focused back on their conversation, finding the words coming and going, but getting the gist.

"I know you couldn't stay away... the Matheson girl has quite the reputation... and I can see it, I can. While she was here, I started to get the appeal... she really is quite... lovely"

Monroe responded with something low and menacing that she couldn't hear.

"Oh, calm down General. Though, I do wonder where she's run off to... probably my idiot son could shed some light on the subject. Well, no matter... she has accomplished what I needed her for after all."

They talked on, and Charlie started to inch back in their direction, as silently as possible. Neville had a lot to get off his chest, it seemed, interspersed bursts of talk and the hard sound of flesh hitting flesh, she thought as she stayed there, cramped and miserable, listening to decades old grievances being aired. She chewed her lip and tried to ignore the burning in her legs. He'd come. He had come for her. She didn't know what to feel about it, except that deep down, she had known he would. He would always come for her, and the very fact that she knew this without a doubt made it irrefutable, the man from her dreams was not so different from the one who was sitting in the room beside her, spitting out blood, and receiving quite the beating by the sounds of it. She couldn't leave him, even while the notion passed through her mind, she knew it wasn't an option. She could no more leave him, than he could resist coming for her. They were tied together, in some frustrating and undeniable way. She couldn't take Tom, as tired and weak as she was, even with the element of surprise. She'd have to wait, and hope he was alone at some point. She shivered, and wrapped her arms around her legs, rocking herself ever so gently to keep warm.

* * *

Monroe had lost track of time when Tom finally wiped his bleeding knuckles on a rag and stood back, glancing at his watch, and whistling low.

"Well, time really flies, don't it... I'll be back shortly, once I get that message to the President sent. Better check in with Jason too... he'll have to get our female prisoner back in a cell before anyone notices... I bet he's had a great afternoon... entertaining our lovely Miss Matheson in private..." Tom leaned into Monroe's ear and whispered the next.

"Wonder if he bothered removing the handcuffs and gag or not"

He felt a snarl build, and ripped his head to the side, going for the older man's ear, his anger, and worry spiking even further, yet Tom only stepped back, a self-satisfied look on his face. He moved to the back and checked his restraints, and then left, without another word, still smiling to himself. The heavy door swung shut, and silence fell heavily over the room. He let out a long breath, his mind finally clearing of Neville's petulant whining. He flexed his jaw, and swore softly as it cracked, blood filling his mouth. He turned his head to the side and spat, a long stream of red, and blinked back the sweat and blood from his eyes. Next, he started to test his restraints.

The chair wasn't flimsy, unfortunately, so no hope there. He stood up, relieved at least he hadn't been handcuffed to the chair. He felt a crippling pain rip through his shoulders as his arms cramped, tight flush against his back. He walked slowly around the room, starting at the door. It was thick, military issue, and locked tight. No chance. He moved on, bare concrete walls and floor.

The only point of interest was toward the back wall, where several metal tables and chairs have been stored, beside the pip that ran along the wall, and a vent a good distance up. His eyes fell to the handcuffs, and the drops of blood, tied to the pipe, below the vent. Charlie. He felt anger shoot through him again, and kicked the pipe, swearing loudly as he turned back to the chair, planning on kicking it over ot get a better look at the air vent.

As he hooked the chair leg, and started to drag it over, as quietly as possible, he froze, hearing a noise coming from somewhere inside the cell. A bumping, metallic sound, twisting, as though something was being unscrewed.

The sound sent him twisting around, wishing he had his hands free to defend himself, as he backed away from the vent, which was now handing half open. He stared in shock as the vent was quietly placed to a side, and he watched long lean legs stick out the shaft, descending slowly, controlled, then a toned mid-drift, and a long spill of blonde hair.

* * *

There was of course the temptation to have our boy Monroe ride in an save her, cutting down all in her path - but, hey, Charlie's a BAMF too))


	13. Lay Your Head Where It Burns

**You guys are so awesome, here we go with the second part. Now, it was quickly uploaded, so, sorry for mistakes!**

**Review and let me know what you think!**

* * *

Charlie dropped to the floor in front of the vent and gasped for breath, the close air of the vent sitting stalely in her lungs. She leaned against the wall, getting her breath back, the air rasping as it went into and out of her inflamed lungs, she wheezed a little, coughed, the dust finally settling, pounding her chest for a moment, sucking in the fresher air, even as it hurt. She closed her eyes a long moment, feeling a little dizzy, the blood rushing back into her legs, after hours of cramped space, and finally, resting her head against the wall, opened her eyes, seeing Monroe standing in shock on the other side of the room, his face bloodied and battered, one eye half-closed, his arms tied tight behind his back. His jaw as actually hanging open as he watched her, looking up at the vent.

"Charlie... what the hell - are you hurt?" he asked as she stood up and started toward him, her energy surging back as her body came back to life.

"I'm fine." he looked relieved, taking a step toward her, before seeming to realise his hands were bound.

"Let's save the heartfelt reunion for later... turn around" she said shortly, stepping around him to see his wrists. She was quiet staring at them, and he couldn't shake the shock of seeing her appear suddenly.

"Handcuffs... fantastic" she muttered, squatting down to look closer, as he twisted around to see, and sucked a deep breath in as pain pierced his side.

"Stop moving. You didn't happen to bring a lock pick or something, did you?" she asked, glancing up at his white face, teeth clenched as he shook his head tersely. She stood up and shifted around to him, touched his side, and his sharp inhale caused her to lift his t-shirt, her impassive face giving nothing away as she studied his side, before lowering it and finally meeting his gaze.

"Charlie, what the hell? I thought Jason Neville... took you somewhere..."

"No, he's been helping me"

"Well... where did you come from?" he asked, glancing back at the air vent.

"I was just about to bust myself out of here... but thanks to you, I"m right back where I started, come on... we have to move faster than this" she said, her eyes evading the questions appearing in his.

"You do know there is only one way to get out of these cuffs... right?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him, and saw a grim smile appear on his mouth.

"Yeah... I'm aware."

"Unless you can fit through the vent with your hands tied..." she said, looking up at it, reassessing it based on his size. He grimaced.

"How about we don't go through the vent..." he tried, and she shook her head.

"Jason said it's the only way, there are too many patrols, double guard change over during shifts. The patriots have managed to cobble together a pretty effective base here... and you can't fight" she remarked, giving him a critical once over that made him stand up a little straighter, despite the stabbing pains it brought.

"I can always fight.." he disagreed, dropping it as she rolled her eyes and then started coughing again. His eyes, always intent on her, noticed the way her hands shook as she covered her mouth, the tiredness of her eyes and slick sweat on her skin.

"If I can't fight... then neither can you" he said, she narrowed her eyes at his assessment, and then conceded, reluctantly.

"So, we're back to the vent" she murmured, considering her options.

"I say we try it, I can always break your hand later... plan B" she said matter-of-factly spinning round and starting back to the vent. He watched her go, his heart beating strangely in his chest at the fact of her, being here, when she had already escaped.

"Are you coming?" she demanded in a harsh whisper as she moved the chair against the vent, which she had obviously not used last time.

"You first... I'll push you up"

"Charlie -" he started and saw the determined look in her eye and swallowed his words, coming forward, stepping carefully onto the chair, with her hands holding him steady. He slowly stepped on to the thin chair back, jammed against the wall, and found the vent about shoulder height. No big deal. Unless your hands were tied behind your back.

"Step on my shoulder" Charlie said, and he flashed an angry look down at her.

"Hell no."

"Just for second, jeez, Monroe, I'm not going to break" she muttered, positioning herself under his foot. He scowled and shifted his weight as far forward as possible, leaning his chest into the opening, and then, put his foot onto her shoulder. He felt her dip as she adjusted to his weight, and then stand up again. He pushed down, and propelled his weight forward, falling face first into the narrow air vent with a curse. He felt Charlie pushing him forward, using his feet and thought he might have never been in such an undignified position before in his life... and how much Tom Neville was going to get it, when he had full use of his hands again.

He heard her returning the chair, and then her light steps take a run up to the vent, one foot on the wall, and then she was climbing in behind him, crouching herself into the small space, and the light was diminishing as she reattached the vent, the squeaking sound returning, her screwing in the small fastening that hid them from sight.

Once it was down, he felt her moving behind him, and pushed himself to get to his knees. The ceiling immediately hit his head and he cursed. The ceiling was too low to shuffle along on his knees, it had to be a hands and knees job.

"Charlie... we have a problem" he muttered, feeling her come up behind him, her hands settling instinctively on his waist as she looked under his arm and forward.

"Yeah... I didn't think of that." she said, as she racked her brains as to how he could move along without his hands.

"You need to go first. I'll lean on you" he said.

"Seriously?"

"I don't like it anymore than you do, believe me" he growled as she sighed behind him.

"Well, lie down again then" she said after a pause, and he complied careful not to make too much noise.

Fully flat, face down, he felt her gradually start to wriggle over him. Christ, this torture was giving Neville a run for his money, he thought as he felt her lithe body inch along his, her breast scrapping up his back, her on his hips, and then her legs sliding up each side of his head, as she slide over him and in front, finally rising up on her hands and knees. He was pretty sure his face would be an excruciating colour, and he was suddenly glad for the darkness, that his his body's completely inappropriate response, considering the situation. He bent his knees and wrenched his upper body up, his stomach muscles contracting painfully along his injured side. She was waited in front of him, and he hesitated as he came closer.

"Let's just get on with it" she instructed, her face aflame as she felt his chest come to lean on her lower back and hips, his face practically buried in her hair. She started forward, and felt him put his weight on her and move with her. It was embarrassing, but it as working, and together, as quietly as possible they were making progress. They had to stop occasionally, when she moved too fast, and he abruptly fell face forward onto her boots, or when he shot forward too fast, and she found his hips suddenly against hers, his back covering hers, and heard him cursing as his head hit the ceiling.

They shuffled along in silence, accompanied only by the sounds of their jeans against metal, and heavy breathing, hers rasping in and out roughly. At one point she felt her t-shirt riding up, and she could feel his stubbled jaw rubbing the bare skin exposed there, his breath hot against her back, sending shivers down her spine. She forbid her mind from lingering on her recent memories of being in their very position with him, to much more pleasurable conclusion, and hoped he was doing the same.

In the semidarkness, she consulted her map, and continued, turning sometimes, but mostly going forward, until they started to see a little more, the darkness giving way, and she saw another vent in front of them. The one near one of the weak points in the perimeter.

"This is it..." she breathed, shuffling up to it, and looking through the thin gaps, as he waited behind her.

"What do you see?" he asked impatiently as she studied the outside in silence.

"The outside perimeter... and it's going to get light soon. We need to go now" she said, glancing back at him, his face striped by shadows. He nodded.

"Ok. You get down first, go for the perimeter. I'll be right behind you"

"Sure, and how do you think you're getting down without help? Face-plant from 8 feet?"

"I'll take care of it myself, you just get out now -" he started and bit off his words as Charlie huffed in annoyance before turning to the vent and starting on the screws. She worked quietly, as he wondered how indeed he'd get down. If only he were facing the other way, but there was no way to turn in here. He saw the vent shift, and suddenly it was loose in her hands.

"Ready?" she asked, adrenaline spilling into her blood as she looked around, as well as she could from the sides of the vent.

"As I'll ever be" she heard Monroe mutter behind her and nodded. Next, she was moving, the vent set aside, she was slipping nimbly down the wall. He heard a soft exclamation come from her and tensed, instantly thinking how he could get his hands free, when he looked up and saw her crouching at the entrance. He shuffled forward and felt her hands go under his armpits, and haul him out of the vent onto the rocky floor outside, only a foot away from the vent, non to gently. He rolled onto his back and stood up as quickly as possible. He saw Charlie springing to her feet, and keeping into toward the building.

"You didn't think to mention there was no drop?" he hissed at her. She shrugged.

"It was dark" was the only response he got. He looked around, tense, feeling exposed and vulnerable.

"Let's get the hell out of here" he motioned to her with his head to move to the fence, as he brought up the rear, covered her back and watched out for anyone. As Charlie started forward, he bit back a yell as he saw a patriot come around the corner behind her. Her eyes shot to his, as the patriot closed in on her, all happening in mere moments.

She must have read the warning in his eyes though, because she was already spinning around, throwing her weight forward, and bring the man who had caught hold of her shoulder falling to the ground. Without a second thought, she brought her boot slamming hard into his head, as he attempted to get up, and he sank back down, blood splashing in the air over him. Monroe watched with fascination as she then pinned his arms with one leg and place the other knee on his neck. The man lay prone as she slowly chocked the life out of him, while turning to his many pockets and rifling through them, pocketing items, including a knife and hand gun. When he was unconscious, she stood up, wiping her hands, and grabbed up his rifle, slinging it over her body, and finally looked up at him.

"What?" she asked, confused by the look on his face, even as she cocked the rifle and started ahead, scouting the way, her finger poised on the trigger. He shook his head wordless, following her. The climbed the short incline toward the fence, coming closer to the fiery torches that lined the barbed wire. He stumbled as the soft Texas sand crumbled under his unbalanced feet, but found her there at his side, supporting him, his tied arms making him practically useless. A shadow appeared at his side, silent, the soldier creeping in, his gun starting to rise, and he wasted no time, he shot forward and head butted him, causing the man to step backwards. As Monroe stepped back he felt Charlie reach around and then the man was gargling blood, as her knife was withdrawing and going back into her belt, and they were moving again. They came to the barbed wire, without seeing anyone else, and Charlie turned back, surveying around them, the rifle at the ready.

"Go, I'll cover"

"NO – you go first" Monroe said, pushing her with his shoulder. She narrowed her eyes at him.  
"Seriously, now is not the time for chauvinistic crap... I've got the gun, you go first."

"No" was all he said, and she looked in askance at his face, seeing the set of his jaw, the hard line of his mouth and realised he wasn't going to budge on it.

"You're insane" she muttered as she dropped to her chest, holding the gun against it, rolled under the wire. He saw it catch her hair, scratch at her jacket, and then she was through, back up and pointing the gun behind him.

"Hurry up" she urged as he knelt and started to roll under, hissing as the wire raked across his stomach.

"Hey -" he heard a man's voice, close, and tensed, glancing up wildly, just to see Charlie's knife embed itself in her chest, spinning him around. She was already stepping over him and taking back the knife, plus anything else she found to be surplus, as he staggered to his feet.

"Well, let's get out of here" she said with a grin, as she turned to the empt surrounding landscape, slide a slim arm under him, and started forward, urging him into a run. It was no easy thing, to run with your arm around another person, and to have to lean on them, but on they went, foot for foot, perfect sync. She wondered at it a moment, as they skirted over the red and gold streaked ground, morning having reached them. But, then she supposed it made sense. If there was a body she knew better than her own, it was Monroe's. She could remember every hard muscle, every scar, every smattering of hair, and, reddened as she realised, he could probably remember everything about hers.

* * *

By unspoken agreement they made for an old safe house, one that had never been compromised, one where they had waited to approach Miles and Rachel, after they had travelled down from the Plains together. It took a while to work their way there, keeping hidden, staying out the way of patriots, though finally they made it, finding it to be just as isolated and quiet as it had been last time.

Staggering in the door, Charlie kicked it shut as she stepped back from Monroe and straightened up. Her whole body was exhausted, her head ached and she felt pretty sure she still had a fever, while Monroe looked white and wrung out, breathing shallowly to avoid hurting his side. Inside, they stood for a few moments in the sudden quiet, listening for any sounds of pursuit, as they watched from different windows, finally, seeing nothing suspicious.

Charlie went to the kitchen and rummaged around in there, looking for something she was sure she had seen last time they were here, while Monroe collapsed facedown on the ageing settee, a cloud of dust puffing out, making him cough. Charlie finally found what she had been searching for and went through to the sitting room, hiding a smile at his prostrate position.

"Here, sit up" she said, brandishing a saw. He sat up, and she led him through to the kitchen, positioning the chain of the handcuffs against the counter, and started to saw.

"How'd you get caught?" he asked her, glancing over his shoulder, trying to see.

"I was careless I guess..." she said as she concentrated on the sawing motion.

"Did they hurt you?" he asked suddenly and she paused, her blue eyes flickering to his for a moment.

"No. Not really. You?" he shook his head, and tried to quell his rage at her soft tone, all the things she wasn't saying, the brave face she always put on.

"Tom Neville's number's up though, his son too, that little shit" he muttered under his breath.

"No – not Jason. He helped me, without him I never would have gotten out" she said.

"And why exactly would he do that? How do you know he wasn't doing it on his father's orders"

"Because... I know him" she said simply, and Monroe couldn't help the spear of pure jealously that shot through him at that.

It was tedious, and her muscles were aching by the time the link finally broke and she threw the saw down. Monroe exhaled slowly, bringing his hands around the front, frowning as his shoulders went into cramp.

He clenched his teeth, and rocked his neck back and forward, when he felt her hands descend on his shoulder, stilling him.

"Sit" she ordered, kicking at the wooden kitchen chair. He cautiously complied, his curiosity burning as he felt her move behind him, and suddenly as her strong fingers into his bunched muscle. He let out a long sigh as she started to work the cramp out his shoulders, and her touch send his blood singing around his body. He didn't dare look at her for fear of breaking this truce they seemed to be having, and let him eyes drift closed as the camp dissipated, and only pleasure remained at her massage. He must have made a noise at some point, some involuntary whisper of pleasure, because her hands stopped, and she slapped the top of his head.

"I guess it's better" she said and stepped back, leaving the kitchen and going to the sitting room.

He sat a moment longer, before standing and following.

* * *

_Florida was hot and sticky, and long into the humid nights, he sat by the shore, or wandered the nearby town, she was in his mind. It was wrong, he knew it well enough, and yet, there was no escaping her. Have you every loved someone, so much that even the thought of them, was a refuge for your mind, was a place to go, in your memory and imagination... and sometimes, when the waves washed right, and the moon was full – it was enough. _

_He thought of Charlotte Matheson, a lot more than he had right to, yet he couldn't help it. He saw her sometimes, in the street, crossing the road, running through the surf. She had become a constant companion. _

_He thought of their interactions, from her father's funeral, and her hand , inching up his leg, her eyes reckless and hurting. She had been so real to him them, jumping off the page and into colour and motion. She was no longer Miles' niece, mentioned in passing. She was no longer the girl in pigtails sitting around the Sunday table for lunch, hanging on her Uncle's every word. She had become a woman, and a worldly one at that. A man would have to be blind not to see it, not to feel it from her. Confidence, wisdom and cynicism, all wrapped into that breathtaking package. And she had endured more than enough to age her, in her precious few years. _

_And now, she was an undeniable force. He remember her hands on him, in her darkened hall, where she had faced her grief, and embraced her loss, and he had been right by her side, he had guided her through it, without realising. She was a force of nature, she sucked the breath right out of him, and he was consumed by her. He worked and he lived, slept and ate, but he didn't live, not really, outside his thoughts of her. _

_He was too old to feel this way, to find himself completely absorbed with someone else. He was too old to try and care about what a college student would care about, and he found himself agonising over his texts to her sometimes, and then, he found out, that she didn't care in the slightest. _

_Charlotte Matheson danced to the beat of her own drum. He was an old man, and demented in his desire for a girl who could be his daughter, and hell if he didn't meet enough of them. He'd always had a way with women, and had never struggled to find some pretty young things, Charlie's age, to warm his bed... but her – Charlie – Charlotte- was something else entirely. He had drunk those nights away, and sweated and trained the days, and held her in his mind, under the relentless Floridan sun and humidity. When he went home, he would forget her, he would release her from this fascination, he had promised himself, he honestly would, he had told himself and at the time he had actually believed it._

* * *

In the next room, Charlie was emptying her pockets of her bounty from the robbed guards, her face pale, her brow sweaty.

"You're sick... you should rest."

"Yeah, well... so should you." she muttered back, going to the window and looking out. He watched her a long moment, so many things he wanted to say on his lips, and yet none of them making it past.

"Charlotte... please" he murmured and was rewarded with her look. She turned and looked at him, scanning him up and down.

"Can you help me upstairs?" he asked, and she narrowed her eyes at him, waiting for some kind of trick.

"Don't you need to go and find your men?" she asked tartly as she started toward him.

"They'll catch up, don't worry" he said as they started up the stairs, his side throbbing now as Charlie carefully supported it. If he was surprised that she was helping him, he didn't show it as they slowly ascended the stairs and shuffled along the hall. Her body rubbed against his, and sent his nerves on fire as they made it down the hall, and quickly realised it was a one bedroom place. In the bedroom, Charlie didn't say anything as she helped him lie of the bed, and then stepped back, raising his shirt a few inches, frowning at his darkened ribs.

"There's nothing I can do for that... just rest" she said, and broke off in a sneeze. He watched her beautiful face wrinkled in the action, and her back trembled for a moment as the action shook her.

"You aren't well Charlie... come and lie down" he said, trying his best to sound purely interested in her well being, as he lay on his side on the soft bed, feeling his ribs relax for the first time in 24 hours. She shook her head.

"I'll go to the couch, it's fine" she said as she started toward the door he sat up, grimacing as it hurt.

"The hell you will – if anyone is, it's me" he said, swinging his legs over the edge, making her hesitate at the door.

"You need to rest..." she said, and trailed off, looking away from him, so incredibly determined not to show him any weakness, and yet so unwilling to hear him say he'd sleep on the lumpy couch.

"So – come rest with me... I'll be a perfect gentleman" he promised and saw her wavering. She looked at him long and hard, before shrugging slightly, her weariness overtaking her. She slipped her tattered jacket off, and her boots. He was transported for a moment into their past, and their first night together. She climbed slowly up the other side of the bed, turning on her side, her head supported by her arm and looked at him. They could have been in the dreamworld for all the similarities, but this... it was real.

"You came for me – thank you." she said suddenly, and he looked at her expression and wondered if she had really been surprised he had.

"Had no choice. I would always come for you" he said, and willed himself to meet her frank and searching gaze. She opened her mouth, her look indicating that she was about to disagree with him, about to disparage his comment, or condemn it, about to remind him of why that impulse was so very inappropriate.

"I know." she said, and her lips, softened into the smallest smiles.

"Let's get some sleep" she said, as she saw his confused, intrigued gaze sweep over her face, searching for a meaning she was not ready to give, before tucking her head into the crook of her arm and closing her eyes.


End file.
